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RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  MUSTACHE. 


T  1 1  ¥ 


RISE  AND  FALL 


THE    MUSTACHE 


AND  OTHER 


"HAWK-E  YETEMS." 


BY    ROBERT    J.    BURDETTE, 

The  Humorist  of  the  Burlington  "Hawk-Eye." 


ILLUSTRATED     BY    R.    W.    WALLIS. 


BURLINGTON,     IOWA: 
BURLINGTON    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

1877. 


,       ,       •*»  COPYRIGHT. 

;pj?RV*fcn'ON    Publishing   Compan"' 
1877. 


Bound  by  A.  J.  Cox  &  Co.,  Chicago.  The  Lakeside  Press,   Chicago. 


/<?77 


TO 

FRANK    HATTON 

Editor-in-Chief, 


MY   ASSOCIATES   ON    THE    HAWKEYE, 


IN    HAPPY    REMEMBRANCE 


OF    OUR    PLEASANT    FELLOWSHIP,    THIS   VOLUME 


IS    INSCRIBED. 


925732 


PREFACE 


The  appearance  of  a  new  book  is  an  indication  that 
another  man  has  found  a  mission^  has  entered  upon  the 
performance  of  a  lofty  duty,  actuated  only  by  the  noblest 
impulses  that  can  spur  the  soul  of  man  to  action.  It  is 
the  proudest  boast  of  the  professio?i  of  literature,  that  no 
man  ever  published  a  book  for  selfish  purposes  or  with 
ignoble  aim.  Books  have  been  published  for  the  conso- 
lation of  the  distressed;  for  the  guidance  of  the  wafidering ; 
for  the  relief  of  the  destitute;  for  the  hope  of  the  penite?itj 
for  uplifting  the  burdened  soul  above  its  sorrows  and 
fears;  for  the  general  amelioration  of  the  condition  of  all 
mankind;  for  the  right  against  the  wrong;  for  the  good 
against   the  bad;  for  the  truth.      This    book   is  published 

for  two  dollars  per  volume. 

R.  J.  B. 


OOITTENTS, 


A  Boy's  Day  at  Home, 

A  Burlington  Adder, 

A  Burlington  Novelette, 

A  Candid  Confession, 

A  Modern  Goblin,    . 

A  Rainy  Day  Idyl, 

A  Reminiscence  of  Exhibition  Day, 

A  Safe  Bet, 

A  Sunday  Idyl, 

A  Taciturn  Witness,    . 

A  Thrilling  Encounter, 

A  Trying  Situation,     . 

An  Autumnal  Reverie, 

Buying  a  Tin  Cup, 

Cornering  the  Boys, 

Dangers  of  Bathing, 

Driving  the  Cow, 

Five  Women,         .        . 

Getting  Ready  for  the  Train,     . 

Hawk  -  Eyetems 

Infantile  Scintillations, 

Inspirations  of  Truth, 

Life  in  the  "  Hawkeye  "  Sanctum, 

Master  Bilderback  Returns  to  School, 

Master  Bilderback's  Poultry  -  Yard, 

Middlerib's  Dog, 

Middlerib's  Picnic, 

Mind  Reading, 

Misapplied  Science, 

Mr.  Baringer's  House  Cleaning, 

Mr.  Bilderback  Loses  His  Hat, 

Mr.  Gerolman  Loses  His  Dog, 

Mr.  Olendorf's  Complaint, 


PAGE. 

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119 
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146 

59 
298-328 

293 
156 
109 

74 
258 
270 
250 
200 

96 
282 

195 

82 

180 


8 


CONTENTS. 


Ode  to  Autumn, 

One  of  the  Legion, 

RuPERTiNo's  Panorama, 

Rural  Felicity, 

Selling  the  Heirloom, 

Settling  Under  Difficulties, 

Singular  Transformation, 

Sodding  as  a  Fine  Art, 

Special  Providences,    . 

Spirit  Photography, 

Spring  Days  in  Burlington,     . 

Spring  Time  in  America,     . 

Suburban  Solitude, 

The  Amenities  of  Politics, 

The  Artless  Prattle  of  Childhood 

The  Automatic  Clothes-  Line  Reel 

The  Demand  for  Light  Labor, 

The  Garden  of  the  Gods, 

The  Goblin  Gate, 

The  Language  of  Flowers, 

The  Lay  of  the  Cow, 

The  Power  of  Dignity, 

The  Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Mustach 

The  Romance  of  the  Carpet, 

The  Seedsman, 

The  Sorrows  of  the  Poor, 

Voices  of  the  Night, 

Why  Mr.  Bostwick  Moved, 

Wide  Awake,     ... 

Woodland  Music  and  Poetry, 

"Writing  for  the  Press, 

Young  Mr.  Coffinberry  Buys  a  Dog 


78 

121 
266 

185 

I2g 
296 
87 
135 
279 
158 
108 

115 
90 

139 
102 

152 
70 

189 
148 

113 
206 
169 

9 

132 

127 

79 

67 

275 

99 

116 

161 

207 


The  Rise  and  Fall 


The  MusTAOiii:;'.;; 


WE  open  our  eyes  in  this  living  world  around  us,  in 
a  wonder  land,  peopled  with  dreams,  and  haunted 
with  wonderful  shapes ;  and  every  day  dawns  upon  us 
in  a  medley  of  new  marvels.  We  are  awakened  from 
these  dreams  by  contact  with  hard,  stubborn  facts,  not 
rudely  and  harshly,  but  gradually  and  tenderly.  So 
much  that  is  bright  and  beautiful,  and  full  of  romance 
and  wonder,  passes  away  with  the  earlier  years  of  life, 
that  by  the  time  we  are  able  to  earn  our  first  salary  we 
hold  in  our  hands  only  the  crumpled,  withered  leaves  of 
childhood's  simple  creeds  and  loving  superstitions.  Year 
after  year,  the  inconoclastic  hand  of  earnest,  real  life, 
tears  from  the  lofty  pedestals  upon  which  our  loving 
fancy  had  enshrined  them,  the  gods  of  gold  that  crumble 
into  worthless  clay  at  our  feet.  We  live  to  lose  faith,  at 
last,  in  "  Puss  in  Boots ;  "  we  cease  to  weep  over  the  sad 
tragedy  of  "  Cock  Robin ;  "  there  comes  a  time  when  we 
can  read  "Arabian  Nights,"  and  then  go  to  bed  without 
a  tremor;  with  one  heart-breaking  pang  at  last  we  give 
up  darling  "  Jack   the   Giant   Killer,'*  and  acknowledge 

9 


lO  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

him  to  be  the  fraud  he  stands  confessed ;  it  is  not  long 
after  that,  we  learn  to  look  upon  William  Tell  as  a 
national  myth,  and  then  we  come  to  know,  in  spite  of  all 
that  orthodox  theology  has  taught  us  to  the  contrary, 
that  Adam  was  not  the  first  man  —  that  raised  a  mus- 
tache. Adam  was  too  old  —  when  he  was  born  —  to  care 
very  much  about  what  our  grander  and  more  gradually 
developed  civilization  considers  the  crowning  facial 
ornament.  And  after  his  natural  human  idleness  got 
4>im  into-  per£et:tl:y  natural  human  trouble,  he  was  kept 
■<roo  busy  rafeifig.  Something  to  put  under  his  lip,  to  think 
.;..r.'Li;ch<abppt  what 'gi'ew  above  it.  If  Adam  wore  a  mus- 
LiicneVhe  'never '/kiSed  it.  It  raised  itself.  It  evolved 
itself  out  of  its  own  inner  consciousness,  like  a  primordial 
germ.  It  grew,  like  the  weeds  on  his  farm,  in  spite  of  him, 
and  to  torment  him.  For  Adam  had  hardly  got  his  farm 
reduced  to  a  kind  of  turbulent,  weed  producing,  granger 
fighting,  regular  order  of  things  —  had  scarcely  settled 
down  to  the  quiet,  happy,  care -free,  independent  life  of 
a  jocund  farmer,  with  nothing  under  the  canopy  to  molest 
or  make  him  afraid,  with  every  thing  on  the  plantation 
going  on  smoothly  and  lovelily,  with  a  little  rust  in  the 
oats  ;  army  worm  in  the  corn ;  Colorado  beetles  swarm- 
ing up  and  down  the  potato  patch ;  cutworms  laying 
waste  the  cucumbers;  curculio  in  the  plums  and  borers 
in  the  apple  trees ;  a  new  kind  of  bug  that  he  didn't 
know  the  name  of  desolating  the  wheat  fields;  dry 
weather  burning  up  the  wheat,  wet  weather  blighting  the 
corn ;  too  cold  for  the  melons,  too  dreadfully  hot  for  the 
strawberries;  chickens  dying  with  the  pip;  hogs  being 
gathered  to  their  fathers  with  the  cholera;  sheep  fading 
away  with  a  complication  of  things  that  no  man  could 
remember;  horses  getting  along  as  well  as  could  be 
expected,  with  a  little  spavin,  ring  bone,  wolf  teeth,  dis- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK-  EYETEMS.  n 

temper,  heaves,  blind  staggers,  collar  chafes,  saddle  galls, 
colic  now  and  then,  founder  occasionally,  epizootic  when 
there  was  nothing  else ;  cattle  going  wild  with  the  horn 
ail;  moth  in  the  bee  hives;  snakes  in  the  milk  house; 
moles  in  the  kitchen  garden  — Adam  had  just  about  got 
through  breaking  wild  land  with  a  crooked  stick,  and 
settled  down  comfortably,  when  the  sound  of  the  boy 
was  heard  in  the  land. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  Adam  was  probably  the 
most  troubled  and  worried  man  that  ever  lived?  We 
have  always  pictured  Adam  as  a  care-worn  looking  man; 
a  puzzled  looking  granger  who  would  sigh  fifty  times  a 
day,  and  sit  down  on  a  log  and  run  his  irresolute 
fingers  through  his  hair  while  he  wondered  what  under 
the  canopy  he  was  going  to  do  with  those  boys,  and 
whatever  was  going  to  become  of  them.  We  have 
thought  too,  that  as  often  as  our  esteemed  parent  asked 
himself  this  conundrum,  he  gave  it  up.  They  must 
have  been  a  source  of  constant  trouble  and  mystification 
to  him.  For  you  see  they  were  the  first  boys  that 
humanity  ever  had  any  experience  with.  And  there 
was  no  one  else  in  the  neighborhood  who  had  any  boy, 
with  whom  Adam,  in  his  moments  of  perplexity,  could 
consult.  There  wasn't  a  boy  in  the  country  with  whom 
Adam's  boys  were  on  speaking  terms,  and  with  whom 
they  could  play  and  fight.  Adam,  you  see,  labored 
under  the  most  distressing  disadvantages  that  ever 
opposed  a  married  man  and  the  father  of  a  family.  He 
had  never  been  a  boy  himself,  and  what  could  he  know 
about  boy  nature  or  boy  troubles  and  pleasure }  His 
perplexity  began  at  an  early  date.  Imagine,  if  you  can, 
the  celerity  with  which  he  kicked  off  the  leaves,  and 
paced  up  and  down  in  the  moonlight  the  first  time  little 
Cain  made  the  welkin  ring  when  he  had  the  colic.     How 


12  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

did  Adam  know  what  ailed  him  ?  He  couldn't  tell  Eve 
that  she  had  been  sticking  the  baby  full  of  pins.  He 
didn't  even  know  enough  to  turn  the  vociferous  infant 
over  on  his  face  and  jolt  him  into  serenity.  If  the  fence 
corners  on  his  farm  had  been  overgrown  with  catnip, 
never  an  idea  would  Adam  have  had  what  to  do  with  it. 
It  is  probable  that  after  he  got  down  on  his  knees  and 
felt  for  thorns  or  snakes  or  rats  in  the  bed,  and  thor- 
oughly examined  young  Cain  for  bites  or  scratches,  he 
passed  him  over  to  Eve  with  the  usual  remark,  "  There, 
take  him  and  hush  him  up,  for  heaven's  sake,"  and  then 
went  off  and  sat  down  under  a  distant  tree  with  his 
fingers  in  his  ears,  and  perplexity  in  his  brain.  And 
young  Cain  just  split  the  night  with  the  most  hideous 
howls  the  little  world  had  ever  listened  to.  It  must 
have  stirred  the  animals  up  to  a  degree  that  no  menagerie 
has  ever  since  attained.  There  was  no  sleep  in  the 
vicinity  of  Eden  that  night  for  anybody,  baby,  beasts  or 
Adam.  And  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  weeds 
got  a  long  start  of  Adam  the  next  day,  while  he  lay 
around  in  shady  places  and  slept  in  troubled  dozes,  dis- 
turbed, perhaps  by  awful  visions  of  possible  twins  and 
more  colic. 

And  when  the  other  boy  came  along,  and  the  boys  got 
old  enough  to  sleep  in  a  bed  by  themselves,  they  had  no 
pillows  to  fight  with,  and  it  is  a  moral  impossibility  for 
two  brothers  to  go  to  bed  without  a  fracas.  And  what 
comfort  could  two  boys  get  out  of  pelting  each  other  with 
fragments  of  moss  or  bundles  of  brush.'*  What  dismal 
views  of  future  humanity  Adam  must  have  received  from 
the  glimpses  of  original  sin  which  began  to  develop  itself 
in  his  boys.  How  he  must  have  wondered  what  put  into 
their  heads  the  thousand  and  one  questions  with  which 
they  plied  their  parents  day  after  day.     We  wonder  what 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  13 

he  thought  when  they  first  began  to  string  buckeyes  on 
the  cat's  tail.  And  when  night  came,  there  was  no  hired 
girl  to  keep  the  boys  quiet  by  telling  them  ghost  stories, 
and  Adam  didn't  even  know  so  much  as  an  anecdote. 

Cain,  when  he  made  his  appearance,  was  the  first  and 
only  boy  in  the  fair  young  \\orld.  And  all  his  education 
depended  on  his  inexperienced  parents,  who  had  never 
in  their  lives  seen  a  boy  until  they  saw  Cain.  And  there" 
wasn't  an  educational  help  in  the  market.  There  wasn't 
an  alphabet  block  in  the  county;  not  even  a  Centennial 
illustrated  handkerchief.  There  were  no  other  boys  in 
the  republic,  to  teach  young  Cain  to  lie,  and  swear,  and 
smoke,  and  drink,  fight,  and  steal,  and  thus  develop 
the  boy's  dormant  statesmanship,  and  prepare  him  for 
the  sterner  political  duties  of  his  maturer  years.  There 
wasn't  a  pocket  knife  in  the  universe  that  he  could  bor- 
row—  and  lose,  and  when  he  wanted  to  cut  his  finger,  as 
all  boys  must  do,  now  and  then,  he  had  to  cut  it  with  a 
clam  shell.  There  were  no  country  relations  upon  whom 
little  Cain  could  be  inflicted  for  two  or  thre>3  weeks  at  a 
time,  when  his  wearied  parents  wanted  a  little  rest. 
There  was  nothing  for  him  to  play  with.  Adam  couldn't 
show  him  how  to  make  a  kite.  He  had  a  much  better 
idea  of  angels'  wings  than  he  had  of  a  kite.  And  if 
little  Cain  had  even  asked  for  such  a  simple  bit  of 
mechanism  as  a  shinny  club,  Adam  would  have  gone  out 
into  the  depths  of  the  primeval  forest  and  wept  in  sheer 
mortification  and  helpless,  confessed  ignorance.  I  don't 
wonder  that  Cain  turned  out  bad.  I  always  said  he 
would.  For  his  entire  education  depended  upon  a  n^ost 
ignorant  man,  a  man  in  the  very  palmiest  days  of  his 
ignorance,  who  couldn't  have  known  less  if  he  had  tried 
all  his  life  on  a  high  salary  and  had  a  man  to  help  him. 
And  the  boy's  education  had  to  be  conducted  entirely 


14  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

'  upon  the  catechetical  system  ;  only,  in  this  instance,  the 
bjy  pupil  asked  the  questions,  and  his  parent  teachers, 
heaven  help  them,  tried  to  answer  them.  And  they  had 
to  answer  at  them.  For  they  could  not  take  refuge  from 
the  steady  stream  of  questions  that  poured  in  upon  them 
day  after  day,  by  interpolating  a  fairy  story,  as  you 
do  when  your  boy  asks  you  questions  about  something 
of  which  you  never  heard.  For  how  could  Adam 
begin,  "  Once  upon  a  time,"  when  with  one  quick, 
incisive  question,  Cain  could  pin  him  right  back  against 
the  dead  wall  of  creation,  and  make  him  either  specify 
exactly  what  time,  or  acknowledge  the  fraud  ?  How 
could  Eve  tell  him  about  "Jack  and  the  bean  stalk," 
when  Cain,  fairy  crazy  for  some  one  to  play  with,  knew 
perfectly  well  there  was  no.,  and  never  had  been,  another 
boy  on  the  plantation?  And  as  day  by  day  Cain  brought 
home  things  in  h;s  hands  about  which  to  ask  questions 
that  no  mortal  could  answer,  how  grateful  his  bewildered 
parents  must  have  been  that  he  had  no  pockets  in  which 
to  transport  his  collections.  For  many  generations  came 
into  the  fair  young  world,  got  into  no  end  of  trouble,  and 
died  out  of  it,  before  a  boy's  pocket  solved  the  problem 
how  to  make  the  thing  contained  seven  times  greater 
than  the  container^  The  only  thing  that  saved  Adam 
and  Eve  from  interrogational  insanity  was  the  paucity  of 
language.  If  little  Cain  had  possessed  the  verbal 
abundance  of  the  language  in  which  men  are  to-day 
talked  to  death,  his  father's  bald  head  would  have  gone 
down  in  shining  flight  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  escape 
him,  leaving  Eve  to  look  after  the  stock,  save  the  crop, 
and  raise  her  boy  as  best  she  could.  Which  would  have 
been,  6,000  years  ago,  as  to-  day,  just  like  a  man. 
^Because,  it  was  no  off  hand,  absent-minded  work 
answering  questions  about  things  in  those  spacious  old 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I5 

days,  when  there  was  crowds  of  room,  and  everything 
grew  by  the  acre.  When  a  placid,  but  exceedingly  unan- 
imous looking  animal  went  rolling  by,  producing  the 
general  effect  of  an  eclipse,  and  Cain  would  shout,  "  Oh, 
lookee,  lookee  pa!  what's  that?"  the  patient  Adam,  trying 
to  saw  enough  kitchen  wood  to  last  over  Sunday,  with  a 
piece  of  flint,  would  have  to  pause  and  gather  up  words 
enough  to  say: 

"That,  my  son?  That  is  only  a  mastodon  giganteus; 
he  has  a  bad  look,  but  a  Christian  temper." 

And  then,  presently : 

"Oh,  pop!  pop!     What's  that  over  yon?  " 

"Oh,  bother,"  Adam  would  reply;  "it's  only  a  paleo- 
therium,  mammalia  pachydermata." 

"Oh,  yes;  theliocomeafterus.  Oh!  lookee,  lookee  at 
this  'un!  " 

"Where,  Cainny?  Oh,  that  in  the  mud?  That's  only 
an  acephala  lamelli  branchiata.  It  won't  bite  you,  but 
you  mustn't  eat  it.     It's  poison  as  politics." 

"Whee!     See  there!  see,  see,  see!     What's  him?" 

"Oh,  that?  Looks  like  a  plesiosaurus;  keep  out  of  his 
way;  he  has  a  jaw  like  your  mother." 

"Oh  yes;  a  plenosserus.  And  what's  that  fellow, 
poppy?" 

"That's  a  silurus  malapterus.  Don't  you  go  near  him, 
for  he  has  the  disposition  of  a  Georgia  mule." 

"Oh,  yes;  a  slapterus.     And  what's  this  little  one?" 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  but  an  aristolochioid.     Where  did  you 

get  it?     There  now,  quit  throwing  stones  at  that  acanth- 

I  opterygian;  do  you  want  to  be  kicked?     And  keep  away 

'"  from    the    nothodenatrichomanoides.     My   stars.    Eve! 

!  where  did  he  get  that  anonaceo-hydrocharideo-nymphae- 

oid?     Do  you  never  look  after  him  at  all?     Here,  you 

Cain,  get  right  away  down  from   there,  and  chase  that 


l6  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

megalosaurius  out  of  the  melon  patch,  or  I'll  set  the 
monopleuro  branchian  on  you."^ 

Just  think  of  it.  Christian  man  with  a  family  to  support, 
with  last  year's  stock  on  your  shelves,  and  a  draft  as  long 
as  a  clothes-line  to  pay  to-morrow!  Think  of  it,  woman 
with  all  a  woman's  love  and  constancy,  and  a  mother's 
sympathetic  nature,  with  three  meals  a  day  365  times  a 
year  to  think  of,  and  the  flies  to  chase  out  of  the  sitting- 
room;  think,  if  your  cherub  boy  was  the  only  boy  in  the 
wide  wide  world,  and  all  his  questions  which  now  radiate 
in  a  thousand  directions  among  other  boys,  who  tell  him 
lies  and  help  him  to  cut  his  eye-teeth,  were  focused 
upon  you !  Adam  had  only  one  consolation  that  has 
been  denied  his  more  remote  descendants.  His  boy 
never  belonged  to  a  base  ball  club,  and  never  teased  his 
father  from  the  first  of  November  till  the  last  of  March 
for  a  pair  of  skates. 

Well,  you  have  no  time  to  pity  Adam.  You  have  your 
own  boy  to  look  after.  Or,  your  neighbor  has  a  boy,whom 
you  can  look  after  much  more  closely  than  his  mother 
does,  and  much  more  to  your  own  satisfaction  than  to  the 
boy's  comfort.  Your  boy  is,  as  Adam's  boy  was,  an 
animal  that  asks  questions.  If  there  were  any  truth  in 
the  old  theory  of  the  transmigration  of  souls,  when  a  boy 
died  he  would  pass  into  an  interrogation  point.  And  he'd 
stay  there.  He'd  never  get  out  of  it;  for  he  never  gets 
through  asking  questions.  The  older  he  grows  the  more 
he  asks,  and  the  more  perplexing  his  questions  are,  and  the 
more  unreasonable  he  is  about  wanting  them  answered 
to  suit  himself.  Why,  the  oldest  boy  I  ever  knew  —  he 
was  fifty-seven  years  old,  and  I  went  to  school  to  him 
—  could  and  did  ask  the  longest,  hardest,  crookedest 
questions,  that  no  fellow,  who  used  to  trade  off  all  his 
books  for  a  pair  of  skates  and  a  knife  with  a  corkscrew 


.   AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I7 

in  it,  could  answer.  And  when  his  questions  were 
not  answered  to  suit  him,  it  was  his  custom — a  custom 
more  honored  in  the  breeches,  we  used  to  think,  than 
in  the  observance  —  to  take  up  a  long,  slender,  but 
exceedingly  tenacious  rod,  which  lay  ever  near  the  big 
dictionary,  and  smite  with  it  the  boy  whose  naturally 
derived  Adamic  ignorance  was  made  manifest.  Ah  me, 
if  the  boy  could  only  do  as  he  is  done  by,  and  ferule  the 
man  or  the  woman  who  fails  to  reply  to  his  inquiries,  as 
he  is  himself  corrected  for  similar  shortcomings,  what  a 
valley  of  tears,  what  a  literally  howling  wilderness  he 
•could  and  would  make  of  this  world. 

Your  boy,  asking  to-day  pretty  much  the  same  ques- 
tions, with  heaven  knows  how  many  additional  ones,  that 
Adam's  boy  did,  is  told,  every  time  he  asks  one  that  you 
don't  know  any  thing  about,  just  as  Adam  told  Cain  fifty 
times  a  day,  that  he  will  know  all  about  it  when  he  is  a 
man.  And  so  from  the  days  of  Cain  down  to  the  present 
wickeder  generation  of  boys,  the  boy  ever  looks  forward 
to  the  time  when  he  will  be  a  man  and  know  everything. 
That  happy,  far  away,  omniscient,  unattainable  manhood, 
which  never  comes  to  your  boy;  which  would  never 
come  to  him  if  he  lived  a  thousand  years;  manhood,  that 
like  boyhood,  ever  looks  forward  from  to-day  to  the 
morrow;  still  peering  into  the  future  for  brighter  light 
and  broader  knowledge ;  day  after  day,  as  its  world  opens 
before  it,  stumbling  upon  ever  new  and  unsolved  myste- 
ries ;  manhood,  whose  wisdom  is  folly  and  whose  light  is 
often  darkness,  and  whose  knowledge  is  selfishness; 
manhood,  that  so  often  looks  over  its  shoulder  and 
glances  back  toward  boyhood,  when  its  knowledge  was 
at  least  always  equal  to  its  day ;  manhood,  that  after 
groping  for  years  through  tangled  labyrinths  of  failing 
human  theories  and  tottering  human  wisdom,  at  last 
2 


l8  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

only  rises  to  the  sublimity  of  childhood,  only  reaches  the 
grandeur  of  boyhood,  and  accepts  the  grandest,  eternal 
truths  of  the  universe,  truths  that  it  does  not  compre- 
hend, truths  that  it  can  not,  by  searching,  find  out, 
accepting  and  believing  them  with  the  simple,  unques- 
tioning faith  of  childhood  in  Truth  itself. 

And  now,  your  boy,  not  entirely  ceasing  to  ask  ques- 
tions, begins  to  answer  them,  until  you  stand  amazed  at 
the  breadth  and  depth  of  his  knowledge.  He  asks  ques- 
tions and  gets  answers  of  teachers  that  you  and  the  school 
board  know  not  of.  Day  by  day,  great  unprinted  books, 
upon  the  broad  pages  of  which  the  hand  of  nature  has 
traced  characters  that  only  a  boy  can  read,  are  spread 
out  before  him.  He  knows  now  where  the  first  snow- 
drop lifts  its  tiny  head,  a  pearl  on  the  bosom  of  the  barren 
earth,  in  the  Spring;  he  knows  where  the  last  Indian 
pink  lingers,  a  flame  in  the  brown  and  rustling  woods,  in 
the  autumn  days.  His  pockets  are  cabinets,  from  which  he 
drags  curious  fossils  that  he  does  not  know  the  names  of; 
monstrous  and  hideous  beetles  and  bugs  and  things  that 
you  never  saw  before,  and  for  which  he  has  appropriate 
names  of  his  own.  He  knows  where  there  are  three 
orioles'  nests,  and  so  far  back  as  you  can  remember,  you 
never  saw  an  oriole's  nest  in  your  life.  He  can  tell  you 
how  to  distinguish  the  good  mushrooms  from  the  poison- 
ous ones,  and  poison  grapes  from  good  ones,  and  how  he 
ever  found  out,  except  by  eating  both  kinds,  is  a  mystery 
to  his  mother.  Every  root,  bud,  leaf,  berry  or  bark,  that 
will  make  any  bitter,  horrible,  semi -poisonous  tea, 
reputed  to  have  marvelous  medicinal  virtues,  he  knows 
where  to  find,  and  in  the  season  he  does  find,  and  brings 
home,  and  all  but  sends  the  entire  family  to  the  cemetery 
by  making  practical  tests  of  his  teas. 

And  as  his  knowledge  broadens,  his  human  superstition 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I9 

develops  itself.  He  has  a  formula,  repeating  which  nine 
times  a  day,  while  pointing  his  finger  fixedly  toward  the 
sun,  will  cause  warts  to  disappear  from  the  hand,  or,  to  use 
his  own  expression,  will  "  knock  warts."  If  the  eight  day 
clock  at  home  tells  him  it  is  two  o'clock,  and  the  flying 
leaves  of  the  dandelion  declare  it  is  half- past  five,  he 
will  stand  or  fall  with  the  dandelion.  He  has  a  formula, 
by  which  any  thing  that  has  been  lost  may  be  found. 
He  has,  above  all  things,  a  natural,  infallible  instinct  for 
the  woods,  and  can  no  more  be  lost  in  them  than  a 
squirrel.  If  the  cow  does  not  come  home  —  and  if  she  is 
a  town  cow,  like  a  town  man,  she  does  not  come  home, 
three  nights  in  the  week — you  lose  half  a  day  of  valuable 
time  looking  for  her.  Then  you  pay  a  man  three  dollars 
to  look  for  her  two  days  longer,  or  so  long  as  the  appro- 
priation holds  out.  Finally,  a  quarter  sends  a  boy  to  the 
woods;  he  comes  back  at  milking  time,  whistling  the 
tune  that  no  man  ever  imitated,  and  the  cow  ambles 
contentedly  along  before  him.  He  has  one  particular 
marble  which  he  regards  with  about  the  same  supersti- 
tious reverence  that  a  pagan  does  his  idol,  and  his  Sunday- 
school  teacher  can't  drive  it  out  of  him,  either.  Carne- 
lian,  crystal,  bull's  eye,  china,  pottery,  boly,  blood  alley, 
or  commie,  whatever  he  may  call  it,  there  is  "luck  in  it." 
When  he  loses  this  marble,  he  sees  panic  and  bankruptcy 
ahead  of  him,  and  retires  from  business  prudently,  before 
the  crash  comes,  failing,  in  true  centennial  style,  with 
both  pockets  and  a  cigar  box  full  of  winnings,  and  a 
creditors'  meeting  in  the  back  room.  A  boy's  world  is 
open  to  no  one  but  a  boy.  You  never  really  revisit  the 
glimpses  of  your  boyhood,  much  as  you  may  dream  of 
it.  After  you  get  into  a  tail  coat,  and  tight  boots,  you 
never  again  set  foot  in  boy  world.  You  lose  this  mar- 
velous instinct  for  the  woods,  you  can't  tell  a  pig-nut 


20  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

tree  from  a  pecan ;  you  can't  make  friends  with  strange 
dogs;  you  can't  make  the  terrific  noises  with  your  mouth, 
you  can't  invent  the  inimitable  signals  or  the  character- 
istic catchwords  of  boyhood. 

He  is  getting  on,  is  your  boy.  He  reaches  the  dime 
n  )vel  age.  He  wants  to  be  a  missionary.  Or  a  pirate. 
So  far  as  he  expresses  any  preference,  he  would  rather 
be  a  pirate,  an  occupation  in  which  there  are  more 
chances  for  making  money,  and  fewer  opportunities  for 
being  devoured.  He  develops  a  yearning  love  for  school 
and  study  about  this  time,  also,  and  every  time  he 
dreams  of  being  a  pirate  he  dreams  of  hanging  his  dear 
teacher  at  the  yard  arm  in  the  presence  of  the  delighted 
scholars.  His  voice  develops,  even  more  rapidly  and 
thoroughly  than  his  morals.  In  the  yard,  on  the  house 
top,  down  the  street,  around  the  corner;  wherever  there 
is  a  patch  of  ice  big  enough  for  him  to  break  his  neck 
on,  or  a  pond  of  water  deep  enough  to  drown  in,  the 
voice  of  your  boy  is  heard.  He  whispers  in  a  shout,  and 
converses,  in  ordinary,  confidential  moments,  in  a  shriek. 
He  exchanges  bits  of  back-fence  gossip  about  his  father's 
domestic  matters  with  the  boy  living  in  the  adjacent 
township,  to  which  interesting  revelations  of  hom^  life 
the  intermediate  neighborhood  listens  with  intense  satis- 
faction, and  the  two  home  circles  in  helpless  dismay. 
He  has  an  unconquerable  hatred  for  company,  and  an 
aversion  for  walking  down  stairs.  For  a  year  or  two  his 
feet  never  touch  the  stairway  in  his  descent,  and  his 
habit  of  polishing  the  stair  rail  by  using  it  as  a  passenger 
tramway,  soon  breaks  the  other  members  of  the  family 
of  the  careless  habit  of  setting  the  hall  lamp  or  the 
water  pitcher  on  the  baluster  post.  He  wears  the  same 
size  boot  as  his  father;  and  on  the  dryest,  dustiest  days 
in   the   year,   always   manages   to  convey  some  mud  on 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  21 

the  carpets.  He  carefully  steps  over  the  door  mat,  and 
until  he  is  about  seventeen  years  old,  he  actually  never 
knew  there  was  a  scraper  at  the  front  porch.  About  this 
time,  bold  but  inartistic  pencil  sketches  break  out  mys- 
teriously on  the  alluring  back  ground  of  the  wall  paper. 
He  asks,  with  great  regularity,  alarming  frequency,  and 
growing  diffidence,  for  a  new  hat.  You  might  as  well 
buy  him  a  new  disposition.  He  wears  his  hat  in  the  air 
and  on  the  ground  far  more  than  he  does  on  his  head, 
and  he  never  hangs  it  up  that  he  doesn't  pull  the  hook 
through  the  crown  ;  unless  the  hook  breaks  off  or  the  hat 
rack  pulls  over.  He  is  a  perfect  Robinson  Crusoe  in 
inventive  genius.  He  can  make  a  kite  that  will  fly 
higher  and  pull  harder  than  a  balloon.  He  can,  and,  on 
occasion,  will,  take  out  a  couple  of  the  pantry  shelves 
and  make  a  sled  that  is  amazement  itself.  The  mouse- 
trap he  builds  out  of  the  water  pitcher  and  the  family 
bible  is  a  marvel  of  mechanical  ingenuity.  So  is  the 
excuse  he  gives  for  such  a  selection  of  raw  material. 
When  suddenly,  some  Monday  morning,  the  clothes  line, 
without  any  just  or  apparent  cause  or  provocation,  shrinks 
sixteen  feet,  philosophy  can  not  make  you  believe  that 
Prof.  Tice  did  it  with  his  little  barometer.  Because, 
far  down  the  dusty  street,  you  can  see  Tom  in  the  dim 
distance,  driving  a  prancing  team,  six -in -hand,  with  the 
missing  link.  You  send  him  on  an  errand.  Th-ere  are 
three  ladies  in  the  parlor.  You  have  waited,  as  long  as 
you  can,  in  all  courtesy,  for  them  to  go.  They  Imve 
developed  alarming  symptoms  of  staying  to  tea.  And 
you  know  there  aren't  half  enough  strawberries  to  go 
around.  It  is  only  a  three  minutes'  walk  to  the  grocery, 
however,  and  Tom  sets  off"  like  a  rocket,  and  you  are  so 
pleased  with  his  celerity  and  ready  good  nature  that  you 
want  to  run  after  him  and  kiss  him.     He  is  gone  a  long 


22  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

time,  however.  Ten  minutes  become  fifteen,  fifteen  grow 
into  twenty;  the  twenty  swell  into  the  half  hour,  and 
your  guests  exchange  very  significant  glances  as  the  half 
becomes  three-quarters.  Your  boy  returns  at  last. 
Apprehension  in  his  downcast  eyes,  humility  in  his  lag- 
gard step,  penitence  in  the  appealing  slouch  of  his  bat- 
tered hat,  and  a  pound  and  a  half  of  shingle  nails  in  his 
hands.  "Mother,"  he  says,  "what  else  was  it  you  told 
me  to  get  besides  the  nails.'*  "  And  while  you  are  count- 
ing your  scanty  store  of  berries  to  make  them  go  round 
without  a  fraction,  you  hear  Tom  out  in  the  back  yard 
whistling  and  hammering  away,  building  a  dog  house 
with  the  nails  you  never  told  him  to  get. 

Poor  Tom,  he  loves  at  this  age  quite  as  ardently  as  he 
makes  m  stakes  and  mischief.  And  he  is  repulsed  quite 
as  ardently  as  he  makes  love.  If  he  hugs  his  sister,  he 
musses  her  ruffle,  and  gets  cuffed  for  it.  Two  hours 
later,  another  boy,  not  more  than  twenty -two  or  twenty- 
three  years  older  than  Tom,  some  neighbor's  Tom,  will 
come  in,  and  will  just  make  the  most  hopeless,  terrible, 
chaotic  wreck  of  that  ruffle  that  lace  or  footing  can  be 
distorted  into.  And  the  only  reproof  he  gets  is  the 
reproachful  murmur,  "  Must  he  go  so  soon  ?  "  when  he 
doesn't  make  a  movement  to  go  until  he  hears  the  alarm 
clock  go  off  upstairs  and  the  old  gentleman  in  the 
adjoining  room  banging  around  building  the  morning 
fires,  and  loudly  wondering  if  young  Mr.  Bostwick  is 
going  to  stay  to  breakfast.^ 

Tom  is  at  this  age  set  in  deadly  enmity  against  com- 
pany, which  he  soon  learns  to  regard  as  his  mortal  foe. 
He  regards  company  as  a  mysterious  and  eminently 
respectable  delegation  that  always  stays  to  dinner, 
invariably  crowds  him  to  the  second  table,  never  leaves 
him  any   of  the   pie,  and  generally   makes  him   late  for 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  23 

school.  Naturally,  he  learns  to  love  refined  society, 
but  in  a  conservative,  non-committal  sort  of  a  way,  dis- 
sembling his  love  so  effectually  that  even  his  parents 
never  dream  of  its  existence  until  it  is  gone. 

Poor  Tom,  his  life  is  not  all  comedy  at  this  period. 
Go  up  to  your  boy's  room  some  night,  and  his  sleeping 
face  will  preach  you  a  sermon  on  the  griefs  and  troubles 
that  sometimes  weigh  his  little  heart  down  almost  to 
breaking,  more  eloquently  than  the  lips  of  a  Spurgeon 
could  picture  them.  The  curtain  has  fallen  on  one  day's 
act  in  the  drama  of  his  active  little  life.  The  restless 
feet  that  all  day  long  have  pattered  so  far  —  down  dusty 
streets,  over  scoiching  pavements,  through  long  stretches 
of  quiet  wooded  lanes,  along  the  winding  cattle  paths  in 
the  deep,  silent  woods ;  that  have  dabbled  in  the  cool 
brook  where  it  wrangles  and  scolds  over  the  shining  peb- 
bles, that  have  filled  your  house  with  noise  and  dust  and 
racket,  are  still.  The  stained  hand  outside  the  sheet  is 
soiled  and  rough,  and  the  cut  finger  with  the  rude  band- 
age of  the  boy's  own  surgery,  pleads  with  a  mute, effective 
pathos  of  its  own,  for  the  mischievous  hand  that  is  never 
idle.  On  the  brown  cheek  the  trace  of  a  tear  marks  the 
piteous  close  of  the  day's  troubles,  the  closing  scene  in  a 
troubled  little  drama ;  trouble  at  school  with  books  that 
were  too  many  for  him;  trouble  with  temptations  to 
have  unlawful  fun  that  were  too  strong  for  him,  as  they 
are  frequently  too  strong  for  his  father ;  trouble  in  the 
street  with  boys  that  were  too  big  for  him ;  and  at  last, 
in  his  home,  in  his  castle,  his  refuge,  trouble  ha,  pursued 
him  until,  feeling  utterly  friendless  and  in  everybody' i 
way,  he  has  crawled  off  to  the  dismantled  den,  dignified 
usually  by  the  title  of  "  the  boy's  room,"  and  his  over- 
charged heart  has  welled  up  into  his  eyes,  and  his  last 
waking  breath  has  broken  into  a  sob,  and  just  as  he 


24  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

begins  to  think  that  after  all,  life  is  only  one  broad  sea 
of  troubles,  whose  restless  billows,  in  never  -  ending  suc- 
cession, break  and  beat  and  double  and  dash  upon  the 
short  shore  line  of  a  boy's  life,  he  has  drifted  away 
into  the  wonderland  of  a  boy's  sleep,  where  fairy  fingers 
picture  his  dreams.  How  soundly,  deeply,  peacefully  he 
sleeps.  No  mother,  who  has  never  dragged  a  sleepy  boy 
off  the  lounge  at  9  o'clock,  and  hauled  him  off  up  stairs  to 
bed,  can  know  with  what  a  herculean  grip  a  square  sleep 
takes  hold  of  a  boy's  senses,  nor  how  fearfully  and  won- 
derfully limp  and  nerveless  it  makes  him ;  nor  how,  in 
direct  antagonism  to  all  established  laws  of  anatomy,  it 
develops  joints  that  work  both  ways,  all  the  way  up  and 
down  that  boy.  And  what  pen  can  portray  the  wonder- 
ful enchantments  of  a  boy's  dreamland !  No  marvelous 
visions  wrought  by  the  weird,  strange  power  of  hasheesh, 
no  dreams  that  come  to  the  sleep  of  jaded  woman  or 
tired  man,  no  ghastly  specters  that  dance  attendance 
upon  cold  mince  pie,  but  shrink  into  tiresome,  stale,  and 
trifling  commonplaces  compared  with  the  marvelous,  the 
grotesque,  the  wonderful,  the  terrible,  the  beautiful  and 
the  enchanting  scenes  and  people  of  a  boy's  dreamland. 
This  may  be  owing,  in  a  great  measure,  to  the  fact  that 
the  boy  never  relates  his  dream  until  all  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family  have  related  theirs ;  and  then  he 
comes  in,  like  a  back  county,  with  the  necessary  majority ; 
like  the  directory  of  a  western  city,  following  the  census 
of  a  rival  town. 

Tom  is  a  miniature  Ishmaelite  at  this  period  of  his 
career.  His  hand  is  against  every  man,  and  about  every 
man's  hand,  and  nearly  every  woman's  hand,  is  against 
him,  off  and  on.  Often,  and  then  the  iron  enters  his 
soul,  the  hand  that  is  against  him  holds  the  slipper.  He 
wears  his  mother's  slipper  on  his  jacket  quite  as  often   as 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  25 

as  she  wears  it  on  her  foot.  And  this  is  all  wrongs 
unchristian  and  impolitic.  It  spreads  the  slipper  and 
discourages  the  boy.  When  he  reads  in  his  Sunday- 
school  lesson  that  the  wicked  stand  in  slippery  places,  he 
takes  it  as  a  direct  personal  reference,  and  he  is  affronted, 
and  maybe  the  seeds  of  atheism  are  implanted  in  his 
breast.  Moreover,  this  repeated  application  of  the  slipper 
not  only  sours  his  temper,  and  gives  a  bias  to  his  moral 
ideas,  but  it  sharpens  his  wits.  How  many  a  Christian 
mother,  her  soft  eyes  swimming  in  tears  of  real  pain  that 
plashed  up  from  the  depths  of  a  loving  heart,  as  she  bent 
over  her  wayward  boy  until  his  heartrending  wails  and 
piteous  shrieks  drowned  her  own  choking,  sympathetic 
sobs,  has  been  wasting  her  strength,  and  wearing  out  a 
good  slipper,  and  pouring  out  all  that  priceless  flood  of 
mother  love  and  duty  and  pity  and  tender  sympathy 
upon  a  concealed  atlas-back,  or  a  Saginaw  shingle. 

It  is  a  historical  fact  that  no  boy  is  ever  whipped  twice 
for  precisely  the  same  offense.  He  varies  and  improves 
a  little  on  every  repetition  of  the  prank,  until  at  last  he 
reaches  a  point  where  detection  is  almost  impossible. 
He  is  a  big  boy  then,  and  glides  almost  imperceptibly 
from  the  discipline  of  his  father,  under  the  surveillance 
of  the  police. 

By  easy  stages  he  passes  into  the  uncomfortable  period 
of  boyhood.  His  jacket  develops  into  a  tail-coat.  The 
boy  of  to-day,  who  is  slipped  into  a  hollow,  abbreviated 
mockery  of  a  tail-coat,  when  he  is  taken  out  of  long 
dresses,  has  no  idea — not  the  faintest  conception  of  the 
grandeur,  the  momentous  importance  of  the  epoch  in  a 
boy's  life  that  was  marked  by  the  transition  from  the  old- 
fashioned  cadet,  roundabout  to  the  tail-coat.  It  is  an 
experience  that  heaven,  ever  chary  of  its  choicest  bless- 
ings, and  mindful  of  the  decadence  of  the  race  of  boys^ 


26  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

has  not  vouchsafed  to  the  untoward,  forsaken  boys  of  this 
wicked  generation.  When  the  roundabout  went  out 
of  fashion,  the  heroic  race  of  boys  passed  away  from 
earth,  and  weeping  nature  sobbed  and  broke  the  moulds. 
The  fashion  that  started  a  boy  of  six  years  on  his  pilgrim- 
age of  life  in  a  miniature  edition  of  his  father's  coat, 
marked  a  period  of  retrogression  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
and  stamped  a  decaying  and  degenerate  race.  There 
are  no  boys  now,  or  very  few  at  least,  such  as  peopled 
the  grand  old  earth  when  the  men  of  our  age  were 
boys.  And  that  it  is  so,  society  is  to  be  congratulated. 
The  step  from  the  roundabout  to  the  tail-coat  was  a 
leap  in  life.  It  was  the  boy  lulus,  doffing  the  prcBtexta 
and  flinging  upon  his  shoulders  the  toga  virilis  of  Julius; 
Patroclus,  donning  the  armor  of  Achilles,  in  which  to 
go  forth  and  be  Hectored  to  death. 

Tom  is  slow  to  realize  the  grandeur  of  that  tail-coat, 
however,  on  its  trial  trip.  How  differently  it  feels  from  his 
good,  snug-fitting,  comfortable  old  jacket.  It  fits  him 
too  much  in  every  direction,  he  knows.  Every  now  and 
then  he  stops,  with  a  gasp  of  terror,  feeling  positive,  from 
the  awful  sensation  of  nothingness  about  the  neck,  that 
the  entire  collar  has  fallen  off  in  the  street.  The  tails  are 
prairies,  the  pockets  are  caverns,  and  the  back  is  one 
vast,  illimitable,  stretching  waste.  How  Tom  sidles  along 
as  close  to  the  fence  as  he  can  scrape,  and  what  a  wary 
€ye  he  keeps  in  every  direction  for  other  boys.  When  he 
forgets  the  school,  he  is  half  tempted  to  feel  proud  of  his 
toga;  but  when  he  thinks  of  the  boys,  and  the  reception 
that  awaits  him,  his  heart  sinks,  and  he  is  tempted  to  go 
back  home,  sneak  up  stairs,  and  rescue  his  worn  old 
jacket  from  the  rag-bag.  He  glances  in  terror  at  his 
distorted  shadow  on  the  fence,  and,  confident  that  it  is 
a  faithful   outline  of  his  figure,   he   knows  that   he  has 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  27 

worn  his  father's  coat  off  by  mistake.  He  tries  various 
methods  of  buttoning  his  coat,  to  make  it  conform  more 
harmoniously  to  his  figure  and  his  ideas  of  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things.  He  buttons  just  the  lower  button,  and 
immediately  it  flies  all  abroad  at  the  shoulders,  and  he 
beholds  himself  an  exaggerated  mannikin  of  "  Cap  n 
Cuttle."  Then  he  fastens  just  the  upper  button,  and  the 
frantic  tails  flap  and  flutter  like  a  clothes-line  in  a 
cyclone.  Then  he  buttons  it  all  up,  a  la  militaire,  and 
tries  to  look  soldierly,  but  the  effect  is  so  theological- 
studently  that  it  frightens  him  until  his  heart  stops 
beating.  As  he  reaches  the  last  friendly  corner  that 
shields  him  from  the  pitiless  gaze  of  the  boys  he  can 
hear  howling  and  shrieking  not  fifty  yards  away,  he  pauses 
to  give  the  final  adjustment  to  the  manly  and  unmanage- 
able raiment.  It  is  bigger  and  looser,  flappier  and 
wrinklier  than  ever.  New  and  startling  folds,  and  unex- 
pected wrinkles,  and  uncontemplated  bulges  develop 
themselves,  like  masked  batteries,  just  when  and  where 
their  effect  will  be  most  demoralizing.  And  a  new  horror 
discloses  itself  at  this  trying  and  awful  juncture.  He 
wants  to  lie  down  on  the  sidewalk  and  try  to  die.  For 
the  first  time  he  notices  the  color  of  his  coat.  Hideous ! 
He  has  been  duped,  swindled,  betrayed — made  a  mon- 
strous idiot  by  that  silver-tongued  salesman,  who  has 
palmed  off  upon  him  a  coat  2,000  years  old;  a  coat  that 
the  most  sweetly  enthusiastic  and  terribly  misinformed 
women's  missionary  society  would  hesitate  to  offer  a  wild 
Hottentot;  and  which  the  most  benighted,  old-fashioned 
Hottentot  that  ever  disdained  clothes,  would  certainly 
blush  to  wear  in  the  dark,  and  would  probably  decline 
with  thanks.  Oh  madness !  The  color  is  no  color. 
It  is  all  colors.  It  is  a  brindle — a  veritable,  undeni- 
able brindle.    There  must  have  been  a  fabulous  amount 


28  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

of  brindle  cloth  made  up  into  boys'  first  coats,  sixteen 
or  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  ago;  because,  out  of  894 
— I  like  to  be  exact  in  the  use  of  figures,  because 
nothing  else  in  the  world  lends  such  an  air  of  profound 
truthfulness  to  a  discourse — out  of  894  boys  I  knew  in 
their  first  tail-coat  period,  893  came  to  school  in  brindle 
coats.  And  the  other  one  —  the  894th  boy  —  made  his 
wretched  debut  in  a  bottle-green  toga,  with  dreadful 
glaring  brass  buttons.  He  left  school  very  suddenly,  and 
we  always  believed  that  the  angels  saw  him  in  that  coat, 
and  ran  away  with  him.  But  Tom,  shivering  with  appre- 
hension, and  faint  with  mortification  over  the  discovery 
of  this  new  horror,  gives  one  last  despairing  scrooch  of 
his  shoulders,  to  make  the  coat  look  shorter,  and,  with  a 
final  frantic  tug  at  the  tails,  to  make  it  appear  longer, 
steps  out  from  the  protecting  aegis  of  the  corner,  is 
stunned  with  a  vocal  hurricane  of  "Oh,  what  a  coat!'* 
and  his  cup  of  misery  is  as  full  as  a  rag-bag  in  three 
minutes. 

Passing  into  the  tail  coat  period,  Tom  awakens  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  broad  physical  truth,  that  he  has 
hands.  He  is  not  very  positive  in  his  own  mind  how 
many.  At  times  he  is  ready  to  swear  to  an  even  two ; 
one  pair;  good  hand.  Again,  when  cruel  fate  and  the 
non-appearance  of  some  one's  else  brother  has  comi)elled 
him  to  accompany  his  sister  to  a  church  sociable,  he  can 
see  eleven;  and  as  he  sits  bolt  upright  in  the  grimmest 
of  straight -back  chairs,  plastered  right  up  against  the 
wall,  as  the  "social)le"  custom  is,  or  used  to  be,  trying 
to  find  enough  unoccupied  pockets  in  which  to  sequester 
all  his  hands,  he  is  dimly  conscious  that  hands  should 
come  in  pairs,  and  vaguely  wonders,  if  he  has  only  five 
pair  of  regularly  ordained  hands,  where  this  odd  hand 
came   from.      And   hitherto,  Tom   has   been  content   to 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  29 

encase  his  feet  in  anything  that  would  stay  on  them. 
Now,  however,  he  has  an  eye  for  a  glove -fitting  boot,  and 
learns  to  wreathe  his  face  in  smiles,  hollow,  heartless, 
deceitful  smiles,  while  his  boots  are  as  full  of  agony  as 
a  broken  heart,  and  his  tortured  feet  cry  out  for  venge- 
ance upon  the  shoemaker,  and  make  Tom  feel  that  life 
is  a  hollow  mockery  and  there  is  nothing  real  but  soft 
corns  and  bunions. 

And :  His  mother  never  cuts  his  hair  again.  Never. 
When  Tom  assumes  the  manly  gown  she  has  looked  her 
last  upon  his  head,  with  trimming  ideas.  His  hair  will 
be  trimmed  and  clipped,  barberously  it  may  be,  but  she 
will  not  be  acscissory  before  the  fact.  She  may  some- 
times long  to  have  her  boy  kneel  down  before  her,  while 
she  gnaws  around  his  terrified  locks  with  a  pair  of  sci-s- 
sors  that  were  sharpened  when  they  were  made ;  and 
have  since  then  cut  acres  of  calico,  and  miles  and  miles 
of  paper,  and  great  stretches  of  cloth,  and  snarls  and 
coils  of  string;  and  furlongs  of  lamp  wick;  and  have 
snuffed  candles;  and  dug  refractory  corks  out  of  the 
family  ink  bottle ;  and  punched  holes  in  skate  straps ; 
and  trimmed  the  family  nails ;  and  have  even  done  their 
level  best,  at  the  annual  struggle,  to  cut  stove-pipe 
lengths  in  two;  and  have  successfully  opened  oyster 
and  fruit  cans;  and  pried  up  carpet  tacks;  and  have 
many  a  time  and  oft  gone  snarlingly  and  toilsomely 
around  Tom's  head,  and  made  him  an  object  of  terror 
to  the  children  in  the  street,  and  made  him  look  so  much 
like  a  yearling  colt  with  the  run  of  a  bur  pasture,  that 
people  have  been  afraid  to  approach  him  too  suddenly, 
lest  he  should  jump  through  his  collar  and  run 
away. 

He   feels  too,  the   dawning  consciousness   of  another 
grand  truth  in  the  human  economy.     It  dawns  upon  his 


30  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

deepening  intelligence  with  the  inherent  strength  and  the 
unquestioned  truth  of  a  new  revelation,  that  man's  upper 
lip  was  designed  by  nature  for  a  mustache  pasture. 
How  tenderly  reserved  he  is  when  he  is  brooding  over 
this  momentous  discovery.  With  what  exquisite  caution 
and  delicacy  are  his  primal  investigations  conducted. 
In  his  microscopical  researches,  it  appears  to  him  that 
the  down  on  his  upper  lip  is  certainly  more  determined 
down;  more  positive,  more  pronounced,  more  individual 
fuzz  than  that  which  vegetates  in  neglected  tenderness 
upon  his  cheeks.  He  makes  cautious  explorations  along 
the  land  of  promise  with  the  tip  of  his  tenderest  finger, 
delicately  backing  up  the  grade  the  wrong  way,  going 
always  against  the  grain,  that  he  may  the  more  readily 
detect  the  slightest  symptom  of  an  uprising  by  the  first 
feeling  of  velvety  resistance.  And  day  by  day  he  is 
more  and  more  firmly  convinced  that  there  is  in  his  lip, 
the  primordial  germs,  the  protoplasm  of  a  glory  that  will, 
in  its  full  development,  eclipse  even  the  majesty  and 
grandeur  of  his  first  tail  coat.  And  in  the  first  dawning 
consciousness  that  the  mustache  is  there,  like  the  vote, 
and  only  needs  to  be  brought  out,  how  often  Tom  walks 
down  to  the  barber  shop,  gazes  longingly  in  at  the 
window,  and  walks  past.  And  how  often,  when  he 
musters  up  sufficient  courage  to  go  in,  and  climbs  into 
the  chair,  and  is  just  on  the  point  of  huskily  whis- 
pering to  the  barber  that  he  would  like  a  shave,  the 
entrance  of  a  man  with  a  beard  like  Frederick  Barba- 
rossa,  frightens  away  his  resolution,  and  he  has  his  hair 
cut  again.  The  third  time  that  week,  and  it  is  so  short 
that  the  barber  has  to  hold  it  with  his  teeth  while  he 
files  it  off,  and  parts  it  with  a  straight  edge  and  a  scratch 
awl.  Naturally,  driven  from  the  barber  chair,  Tom  casts 
longing  eyes  upon  the   ancestral  shaving  machinery  at 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  3I 

home.     And  who  shall   say  by  what  means  he  at  length 
obtains  possession  of  the  paternal  razor  ?     No  one.     No- 
body knows.    Nobody  ever  did  know.    Even  the  searching 
investigation   that   always  follows  the   paternal  demand 
for  the  immediate  extradition  of  whoever  opened  a  fruit 
can   with   that   razor,  which  always   follows  Tom's   first 
shave,  is   always,   and   ever   will   be,  barren  of  results. 
All  that  we   know  about  it  is,  that  Tom  holds  the  razor 
in  his  hand  about  a  minute,  wondering  what  to  do  with 
it,  before  the  blade  falls  across  his  fingers  and  cuts  every 
one  of  them.     First  blood  claimed   and   allowed,  for  the 
razor.     Then   he   straps  the  razor  furiously.     Or  rather, 
he  razors  the  strap.     He  slashes  and  cuts  that  passive 
implement  in  as  many  directions  as  he  can  make  motions 
with  the  razor.     He   would   cut  it  oftener  if  the   strap 
lasted  longer.     Then  he  nicks  the  razor  against  the  side  of 
the  mug.     Then  he  drops  it  on  the  floor  and  steps  on  it 
and   nicks  it  again.     They  are  small  nicks,  not  so  large 
by  half  as  a  saw  tooth,  and  he  flatters  himself  his  father 
will  never  see  them.     Then  he  soaks  the  razor  in  hot 
water,  as  he  has  seen  his  father  do.     Then  he  takes  it 
out,  at  a  temperature  anywhere  under  980°  Fahrenheit, 
and  lays  it  against  his  cheek,  and  raises  a  blister  there 
the  size  of  the  razor,  as   he  never  saw  his  father  do,  but 
as    his    father   most    assuredly   did,   many,  many    years 
before    Tom    met    him.      Then   he   makes  a   variety  of 
indescribable  grimaces   and  labial  contortions  in  a  fren- 
zied eflbrt  to  get  his  upper  lip  into  approachable  shape, 
and  at  last,  the  first  ofl"er  he  makes  at  his  embryo  mus- 
tache, he  slashes  his  nose  with  a  vicious  upper  cut.     He 
gashes  the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  wherever  those  nicks 
touch  his  cheek  they  leave  a  scratch  apiece,  and  he  learns 
what  a  good  nick  in  a  razor  is  for,  and  at  last  when  he 
lays  the  blood  stained  weapon  down,  his  gory  lip  looks 


32  RISE    AND. FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

as  though  it  had  just  come  out  of  a  long,  stubborn,  excit- 
ing contest  with  a  straw  cutter. 

But  he  learns  to  shave,  after  a  while — ^just  before  he 
cuts  his  lip  clear  off.  He  has  to  take  quite  a  course  of 
instruction,  however,  in  that  great  school  of  experience 
about  which  the  old  philosopher  had  a  remark  to  make. 
It  is  a  grand  old  school;  the  only  school  at  which  men 
will  study  and  learn,  each  for  himself.  One  man's 
experience  never  does  another  man  any  good;  never  did 
and  never  will  teach  another  man  anything.  If  the 
philosopher  had  said  that  it  was  a  hard  school,  but  that 
some  men  would  learn  at  no  other  than  this  grand  old 
school  of  experience,  we  might  have  inferred  that  all 
women,  and  most  boys,  and  a  few  men  were  exempt  from 
its  hard  teachings.  But  he  used  the  more  comprehensive 
term,  if  you  remember  what  that  is,  and  took  us  all  in. 
We  have  all  been  there.  There  is  no  other  school,  in 
fact.  Poor  little  Cain;  dear,  lonesome,  wicked  little 
Cain — I  know  it  isn't  fashionable  to  pet  him;  I  know  it 
is  popular  to  speak  harshly  and  savagely  about  our  eldest 
brother,  when  the  fact  is  we  resemble  him  more  closely 
in  disposition  than  any  other  member  of  the  family — 
poor  little  Cain  never  knew  the  difference  between  his 
father's  sunburned  nose  and  a  glowing  coal,  un  il  he  had 
pulled  the  one  and  picked  up  the  other.  And  Abel  had 
to  find  out  the  difference  in  the  same  way,  although  he 
was  told  five  hundred  times,  by  h's  brother's  experience, 
that  the  coal  would  burn  him  and  the  nose  wouldn't. 
And  Cain's  boy  wouldn't  believe  that  fire  was  any  hotter 
than  an  icicle,  until  he  made  a  digital  experiment,  and 
understood  why  they  called  it  fire.  And  so  Enoch  and 
Methusaleh,  and  Moses,  and  Daniel,  and  Solomon,  and 
Csesar,  and  Napoleon,  and  Washington,  and  the  President, 
and  the  Governor,  and  the  Mayor,  and  you  and  I  have  all 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EVETEMS.  ^^ 

of  US,  at  one  time  or  another,  in  one  way  or  another,  burned 
our  fingers  at  the  same  old  fires  that  have  scorched  human 
fingers  in  the  same  monotonous  old  ways,  at  the  same 
reliable  old  stands,  for  the  past  6,000  years;  and  all  the 
verbal  instruction  between  here  and  the  silent  grave 
couldn't  teach  us  so  much,  or  teach  it  so  thoroughly,  as 
one  well  directed  singe.  And  a  million  of  years  from 
now — if  this  weary  old  world  may  endure  so  long — when 
human  knowledge  shall  fall  a  little  short  of  the  infinite, 
and  all  the  lore  and  erudition  of  this  wonderful  age  will 
be  but  the  primer  of  that  day  of  light — the  baby  that  is 
born  into  that  world  of  knowledge  and  wisdom  and 
progress,  rich  with  all  the  years  of  human  experience, 
will  cry  for  the  lamp,  and,  the  very  first  time  that  oppor- 
tunity favors  it,  will  try  to  pull  the  flame  up  by  the  roots, 
and  will  know  just  as  much  as  ignorant,  untaught,  stupid 
little  Cain  knew  on  the  same  subject.  Year  after  year, 
century  after  unfolding  century,  how  true  it  is  that  the 
lion  on  the  fence  is  always  bigger,  fiercer,  and  more  given 
to  majestic  attitudes  and  dramatic  situations  than  the 
lion  in  the  tent.  And  yet  it  costs  us,  often  as  the  circus 
comes  around,  fifty  cents  to  find  that  out. 

But  while  we  have  been  moralizing,  Tom's  mustache 
has  taken  a  start.  It  has  attained  the  physical  density, 
though  not  the  color,  by  any  means,  of  the  Egyptian 
darkness — it  can  be  felt;  and  it  is  felt;  very  soft  felt. 
The  world  begins  to  take  notice  of  the  new-comer;  and 
Tom,  as  generations  of  Toms  before  him  have  done, 
patiently  endures  dark  hints  from  other  members  of  the 
family  about  his  face  being  dirty.  He  loftily  ignores  his 
experienced  father's  suggestions  that  he  should  perform 
his  tonsorial  toilet  with  a  spoonful  of  cream  and  the 
family  cat.  When  his  sisters,  in  meekly  dissembled 
ignorance    and    innocence,    inquire,    "Tom,    what    /luve 


34  l^ISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

you  on  your  lip?"  he  is  austere,  as  becomes  a  man 
annoyed  by  the  frivolous  small  talk  of  women.  And 
when  his  younger  brother  takes  advantage  of  the  pres- 
ence of  a  numerous  company  in  the  house,  to  shriek 
over  the  baluster  up  stairs,  apparently  to  any  boy  any- 
where this  side  of  China,  "Tom's  a  raisin'  mustashers!' 
Tom  smiles,  a  wan,  neglected-orphan  smile;  a  smile  that 
looks  as  though  it  had  come  up  on  his  face  to  weep  over 
the  barrenness  of  the  land;  a  perfect  ghost  of  a  smile,  as 
compared  with  the  rugged  7X9  smiles  that  play  like 
animated  crescents  over  the  countenances  of  the  company. 
But  the  mustache  grows.  It  comes  on  apace;  very  short 
in  the  middle,  very  no  longer  at  the  ends,  and  very  blonde 
all  round.  Whenever  you  see  such  a  mustache,  do  not 
laugh  at  it;  do  not  point  at  it  the  slow,  unmoving  finger 
of  scorn.  Encourage  it;  speak  kindly  of  it;  affect  admi- 
ration for  it;  coax  it  along.  Pray  for  it — for  it  is  a  first. 
They  always  come  that  way.  And  when,  in  the  fullness 
of  time,  it  has  developed  so  far  that  it  can  be  pulled, 
there  is  all  the  agony  of  making  it  take  color.  It  is  worse, 
and  more  obstinate,  and  more  deliberate  than  a  meer- 
schaum. The  sun,  that  tans  Tom's  cheeks  and  blisters 
his  nose,  only  bleaches  his  mustache.  Nothing  ever 
hastens  its  color;  nothing  does  it  any  permanent  good; 
nothing  but  patience,  and  faith,  and  persistent  pulling. 

With  all  the  comedy  there  is  about  it,  however,  this  is 
the  grand  period  of  a  boy's  life.  You  look  at  them,  with 
their  careless,  easy,  natural  manners  and  movements  in 
the  streets  and  on  the  base  ball  ground,  and  their  mar- 
velous, systematic,  indescribable,  inimitable  and  complex 
awkwardness  in  your  parlors,  and  do  you  never  dream, 
looking  at  these  young  fellows,  of  the  overshadowing 
destinies  awaiting  them,  the  mighty  struggles  mapped  out 
in  the  earnest  future  of  their  lives,  the  thrilling  conquests 

4 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  35 

in  the  world  of  arms,  the  grander  triumphs  in  the  realm 
of  philosophy,  the  fadeless  laurels  in  the  empire  of  let- 
ters, and  the  imperishable  crowns  that  he  who  giveth 
them  the  victory  binds  about  their  brows,  that  wait  for  the 
courage  and  ambition  of  these  boys?  Why,  the  world  is 
at  a  boy's  feet;  and  power  and  conquest  and  leadership 
slumber  in  his  rugged  arms  and  care-free  heart.  A  boy 
sets  his  ambition  at  whatever  mark  he  will — lofty  or 
groveling,  as  he  may  elect — and  the  boy  who  resolutely 
sets  his  heart  on  fame,  on  wealth,  on  power,  on  what  he 
will;  who  consecrates  himself  to  a  life  of  noble  endeavor, 
and  lofty  effort ;  who  concentrates  every  faculty  of  his 
mind  and  body  on  the  attainment  of  his  one  darling 
point ;  who  brings  to  support  his  ambition  courage  and 
industry  and  patience,  can  trample  on  genius;  for  these 
are  better  and  grander  than  genius ;  and  he  will  begin  to 
rise  above  his  fellows  as  steadily  and  as  surely  as  the 
sun  climbs  above  the  mountains.  Hannibal,  standing 
before  the  Punic  altar  fires  and  in  the  lisping  accents  of 
childhood  swearing  eternal  hatred  to  Rome,  was  the 
Hannibal  at  twenty -four  years  commanding  the  army 
that  swept  down  upon  Italy  like  a  mountain  torrent,  and 
shook  the  power  of  the  mistress  of  the  world,  bid  her 
defiance  at  her  own  gates,  while  affrighted  Rome  huddled 
and  cowered  under  the  protecting  shadows  of  her  walls. 
Napoleon,  building  snow  forts  at  school  and  planning 
mimic  battles  with  his  playfellows,  was  the  lieutenant  of 
artillery  at  sixteen  years,  general  of  artillery  and  the 
victor  of  Toulon  at  twenty  -  four,  and  at  last  Emperor — 
not  by  the  paltry  accident  of  birth  which  might  happen  to 
any  man,  however  unworthy,  but  by  the  manhood  and 
grace  of  his  own  right  arm,  and  his  own  brain,  and  his 
own  courage  and  dauntless  ambition — Emperor,  with 
his  foot  on  the  throat  of  prostrate  Europe.     Alexander, 


36  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

daring  more  in  his  boyhood  than  his  warlike  father  could 
teach  him,  and  entering  upon  his  all  conquering  career 
at  twenty  -  four,  was  the  boy  whose  vaulting  ambition 
only  paused  in  its  dazzling  flight  when  the  world  lay  at 
his  feet.  And  the  fair -faced  soldiers  of  the  Empire,  they 
who  rode  down  upon  the  bayonets  of  the  English  squares 
at  Waterloo,  when  the  earth  rocked  beneath  their  feet 
and  the  incense  smoke  from  the  altars  of  the  battle  god 
shut  out  the  sun  and  sky  above  their  heads,  who,  with 
their  young  lives  streaming  from  their  gaping  wounds, 
opened  their  pallid  lips  to  cry,  "  Vive  L  'Empereur,"  as 
they  died  for  honor  and  France,  were  boys — schoolboys — 
the  boy  conscripts  of  France,  torn  from  their  homes  and 
their  schools  to  stay  the  failing  fortunes  of  the  last  grand 
army  and  the  Empire  that  was  tottering  to  its  fall.  You 
don't  know  how  soon  these  happy-go-lucky  young 
fellows,  making  summer  hideous  with  base  ball  slang, 
or  gliding  around  a  skating  rink  on  their  backs,  may 
hold  the  state  and  its  destinies  in  their  grasp;  you 
don't  know  how  soon  these  boys  may  make  and  write  the 
history  of  the  hour;  how  soon  they  alone  may  shape 
events  and  guide  the  current  of  public  action ;  how  soon 
one  of  them  may  run  away  with  your  daughter  or  borrow 
money  of  you. 

Certain  it  is,  there  is  one  thing  Tom  will  do,  just  about 
this  period  of  his  existence.  He  will  fall  in  love  with 
somebody  before  his  mustache  is  long  enough  to  wax. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  earliest  indications  of  this  event, 
for  it  does  not  always  break  out  in  the  same  manner,  is 
a  sudden  and  alarming  increase  in  the  number  and 
variety  of  Tom's  neck -ties.  In  his  boxes  and  on  his 
dressing  case,  his  mother  is  constantly  startled  by  the 
changing  and  increasing  assortment  of  the  display. 
Monday  he  encircles  his  tender  throat  with  a  lilac  knot, 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  37 

fearfully  and  wonderfully  tied.  A  lavender  tie  succeeds 
the  following  day.  Wednesday  is  graced  with  a  sweet 
little  tangle  of  pale,  pale  blue,  that  fades  at  a  breath ; 
Thursday  is  ushered  in  with  a  scarf  of  delicate  pea 
green,  of  wonderful  convolutions  and  sufficiently  expan- 
sive, by  the  aid  of  a  clean  collar,  to  conceal  any  little 
irregularity  in  Tom's  wash  day;  Friday  smiles  on  a 
sailor's  knot  of  dark  blue,  with  a  tangle  of  dainty  forget- 
me  -  nots  embroidered  over  it :  Saturday  tones  itself  down 
to  a  quiet,  unobtrusive,  neutral  tint  or  shade,  scarlet  or 
yellow,  and  Sunday  is  deeply,  darkly,  piously  black.  It 
is  difficult  to  tell  whether  Tom  is  trying  to  express  the 
state  of  his  distracted  feelings  by  his  neckties,  or  trying 
to  find  a  color  that  will  harmonize  with  his  mustache,  or 
match  Laura's  dress. 

And  during  the  variegated  necktie  period  of  man's 
existence  how  tenderly  that  mustache  is  coaxed  and 
petted  and  caressed.  How  it  is  brushed  to  make  it  lie 
down  and  waxed  to  make  it  stand  out,  and  how  he  notes 
its  slow  growth,  and  weeps  and  mourns  and  prays  and 
swears  over  it  day  after  weary  day.  And  now,  if  ever, 
and  generally  now,  he  buys  things  to  make  it  take  color. 
But  he  never  repeats  this  offense  against  nature.  He  buys 
a  wonderful  dye,  warranted  to  "  produce  a  beautiful  glossy 
black  or  brown  at  one  application,  without  stain  or  injury 
to  the  skin."  Buys  it  at  a  little  shabby,  round  the  cor- 
ner, obscure  drug  store,  because  he  is  not  known  there. 
And  he  tells  the  assassin  who  sells  it  him,  that  he  is 
buying  it  for  a  sick  sister.  And  the  assassin  knows  that 
he  lies.  >  And  in  the  guilty  silence  and  solitude  of  his 
own  room,  with  the  curtains  drawn  and  the  door  locked, 
Tom  tries  the  virtues  of  that  magic  dye.  It  gets  on  his 
fingers  and  turns  them  black,  to  the  elbow.  It  burns 
holes   in    his    handkerchief  when    he    tries    to    rub  the 


38  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

malignant  poison  off  his  ebony  fingers.  He  applies  it  to 
his  silky  mustache,  real  camel's  hair,  very  cautiously  and 
very  tenderly,  and  with  some  misgivings.  It  turns  his 
lip  so  black  it  makes  the  room  dark.  And  out  of  all  the 
clouds  and  the  darkness  and  the  sable  splotches  that 
pall  every  thing  else  in  Plutonian  gloom,  that  mustache 
smiles  out,  grinning  like  some  ghastly  hirsute  specter, 
gleaming  like  the  moon  through  a  rifted  storm  cloud, 
unstained,  untainted,  unshaded  ;  a  natural,  incorruptible 
blonde.  That  is  the  last  time  anybody  fools  Tom  on 
hair  dye. 

The  eye  he  has  for  immaculate  linen  and  faultless 
collars.  How  it  amazes  his  mother  and  sisters  to  learn 
that  there  isn't  a  shirt  in  the  house  fit  for  a  pig  to  wear, 
and  that  he  wouldn't  wear  the  best  collar  in  his. room  to 
be  hanged  in. 

And  the  boots  he  crowds  his  feet  into  !  A  Sunday- 
school  room,  the  Sunday  before  the  pic-nic  or  the 
Christmas  tree,  with  its  sudden  influx  of  new  scholars, 
with  irreproachable  morals  and  ambitious  appetites, 
doesn't  compare  with  the  overcrowded  condition  of  those 
boots.  Too  tight  in  the  instep;  too  narrow  at  the  toes; 
too  short  at  both  ends ;  the  only  things  about  those  boots 
that  don't  hurt  him,  that  don't  fill  his  very  soul  with 
agony,  are  the  straps.  When  Tom  is  pulling  them  on, 
he  feels  that  if  somebody  would  kindly  run  over  him 
three  or  four  times,  with  a  freight  train,  the  sensation 
would  be  pleasant  and  reassuring  and  tranquilizing. 
The  air  turns  black  before  his  starting  eyes,  there  is  a 
roaring  like  the  rush  of  many  waters  in  his  ears,  he  tugs 
at  the  straps  that  are  cutting  his  fingers  in  two  and  pull- 
ing his  arms  out  by  the  roots,  and  just  before  his  blood- 
shot eyes  shoot  clear  out  of  his  head,  the  boot  comes  on — 
or   the    straps    pull  off.     Then  when   he   stands  up,  the 


AND    OTHER    H AWK  -  EYETEMS.  39 

earth  rocks  beneath  his  feet,  and  he  thinks  he  can  faintly 
hear  the  angels  calling  him  home.  And  when  he  walks 
across  the  floor  the  first  time  his  standing  in  the  church 
and  the  Christian  community  is  ruined  forever.  Or 
would  be  if  any  one  could  hear  what  he  says.  He 
never,  never,  never  gets  to  be  so  old  that  he  can  not  remem- 
ber those  boots,  and  if  it  is  seventy  years  afterward  his 
feet  curl  up  in  agony  at  the  recollection.  The  first  time 
he  wears  them,  he  is  vaguely  aware,  as  he  leaves  his 
room  that  there  is  a  kind  of  "fixy  "  look  about  him,  and 
his  sisters'  tittering  is  not  needed  to  confirm  this  impres- 
sion. He  has  a  certain,  half- defined  impression  that 
every  thing  he  has  on  is  a  size  too  small  for  any  other 
man  of  his  size.  That  his  boots  are  a  trifle  snug,  like  a 
house  with  four  rooms  for  a  family  of  thirty- seven. 
That  the  hat  which  sits  so  lightly  on  the  crown  of  his 
head  is  jaunty  but  limited,  like  a  junior  clerk's  salary; 
that  his  gloves  are  a  neat  fit,  and  can't  be  buttoned  with 
a  stump  machine.  Tom  doesn't  know  all  this  :  he  has 
only  a  general,  vague  impression  that  it  may  be  so.  And 
he  doesn't  know  that  his  sisters  know  every  line  of  it. 
For  he  has  lived  many  years  longer,  and  got  in  ever  so 
much  more  trouble,  before  he  learns  that  one  bright, 
good,  sensible  girl  —  and  I  believe  they  are  all  that  — 
will  see  and  notice  more  in  a  glance,  remember  it  more 
accurately,  and  talk  more  about  it,  than  twenty  men  can 
see  in  a  week.  Tom  does  not  know,  for  his  crying  feet 
will  not  let  him,  how  he  gets  from  his  room  to  the  earthly 
paradise  where  Laura  lives.  Nor  does  he  know,  after  he 
gets  there,  that  Laura  sees  him  trying  to  rest  one  foot  by 
setting  it  up  on  the  heel.  And  she  sees  him  sneak  it 
back  under  his  chair  and  tilt  it  up  on  the  toe  for  a 
change.  She  sees  him  ease  the  other  foot  a  little  by 
tugging  the  heel  of  the  boot  at  the  leg  of  the  chair.     A 


40  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

hazardous,  reckless,  presumptuous  experiment.  Tom 
tries  it  so  far  one  night,  and  slides  his  heel  so  far  up  the 
leg  of  his  boot,  that  his  foot  actually  feels  comfortable, 
and  he  thinks  the  angels  must  be  rubbing  it.  He  walks 
out  of  the  parlor  sideways  that  night,  trying  to  hide  the 
cause  of  the  sudden  elongation  of  one  leg,  and  he  hob- 
bles all  the  way  home  in  the  same  disjointed  condition. 
But  Laura  sees  that  too.  She  sees  all  the  little  knobs 
and  lumps  on  his  foot,  and  sees  him  fidget  and  fuss,  she 
sees  the  look  of  anguish  flitting  across  his  face  under  the 
heartless,  deceitful,  veneering  of  smiles,  and  she, makes 
the  mental  remark  that  master  Tom  would  feel  much 
happier,  and  much  more  comfortable,  and  more  like 
staying  longer,  if  he  had  worn  his  father's  boots. 

But  on  his  way  to  the  house,  despite  the  distraction  of 
his  crying  feet,  how  many  pleasant,  really  beautiful, 
romantic  things  Tom  thinks  up  and  recollects  and  com- 
piles and  composes  to  say  to  Laura,  to  impress  her  with 
his  originality,  and  wisdom,  and  genius,  and  bright  exu- 
berant fancy  and  general  superiority  over  all  the  rest  of 
Tom  kind.  Real  earnest  things,  you  know ;  no  hollow, 
conventional  compliments,  or  nonsense,  but  such  things, 
Tom  flatters  himself,  as  none  of  the  other  fellows  can  or 
will  say.  And  he  has  them  all  in  beautiful  order  when 
he  gets  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  remark  about  the 
weather,  to  begin  with;  not  the  stereotyped  old  phrase, 
but  a  quaint,  droll,  humorous  conceit  that  no  one  in  the 
world  but  Tom  could  think  of.  Then,  after  the  opening 
overture  about  the  weather,  something  about  music  and 
Beethoven's  sonata  in  B  flat,  and  Haydn's  symphonies, 
and  of  course  something  about  Beethoven's  grand  old 
Fifth  symphony,  somebody's  else  mass,  in  heaven  knows 
how  many  flats;  and  then  something  about  art,  and  a 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  4I 

profound  thought  or  two  on  science  and  philosophy,  and 
so  on  to  poetry  and  from  poetry  to  "  business." 

But  alas,  when  Tom  reaches  the  gate,  all  these  well 
ordered  ideas  display  evident  symptoms  of  breaking  up; 
as  he  crosses  the  yard,  he  is  dismayed  to  know  that  they 
are  in  the  convulsions  of  a  panic,  and  when  he  touches 
the  bell  knob,  every,  each,  all  and  several  of  the  ideas, 
original  and  compiled,  that  he  has  had  on  any  subject 
during  the  past  ten  years,  forsake  him  and  return  no 
more  that  evening.  When  Laura  opened  the  door  he 
had  intended  to  say  something  real  splendid  about  the 
imprisoned  sunlight  of  something,  beaming  out  a  welcome 
upon  the  what  you  may  call  it  of  the  night  or  something. 
Instead  of  which  he  says,  or  rather  gasps:  "Oh,  yes,  to 
be  sure;  to  be  sure;  ho."  And  then,  conscious  that  he 
has  not  said  anything  particularly  brilliant  or  original,  or 
that  most  any  of  the  other  fellows  could  not  say  with  a 
little  practice,  he  makes  one  more  effort  to  redeem  him- 
self before  he  steps  into  the  hall,  and  adds,  "  Oh,  good 
morning;  good  morning."  Feeling  that  even  this  is  only 
a  partial  success,  he  collects  his  scattered  faculties  for 
one  united  effort  and  inquires:  "  How  is  your  mother?" 
And  then  it  strikes  him  that  he  has  about  exhausted  the 
subject,  and  he  goes  into  the  parlor,  and  sits  down,  and 
just  as  soon  as  he  has  placed  his  reproachful  feet  in  the 
least  agonizing  position,  he  proceeds  to  wholly,  com- 
pletely and  successfully  forget  everything  he  ever  knew 
in  his  life.  He  returns  to  consciousness  to  find  hiniself, 
to  his  own  amazement  and  equally  to  Laura's  bewilder- 
ment, conducting  a  conversation  about  the  crops,  and  a 
new  method  of  funding  the  national  debt,  subjects  upon 
which  he  is  about  as  well  informed  as  the  town  clock. 
He  rallies,  and  makes  a  successful  effort  to  turn  the  con- 


42  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

versation  into  literary  channels  by  asking  her  if  she  has 
read  "  Daniel  Deronda,"  and  wasn't  it  odd  that  George 
Washington  Eliot  should  name  her  heroine  "  Grenadine," 
after  a  dress  pattern?  And  in  a  burst  of  confidence  he 
assures  her  that  he  would  not  be  amazed  if  it  should  rain 
before  morning,  (and  he  hopes  it  will,  and  that  it  may  be 
a  flood,  and  that  he  may  get  caught  in  it,  without  an  ark 
nearer  than  Cape  Horn.)  And  so,  at  last,  the  first  even- 
ing passes  away,  and  after  mature  deliberation  and  many 
unsuccessful  efforts  he  rises  to  go.  But  he  does  not  go. 
He  wants  to;  but  he  doesn't  know  how.  He  says  good 
evening.  Then  he  repeats  it  in  a  marginal  reference. 
Then  he  puts  it  in  a  foot  note.  Then  he  adds  the  remark 
in  an  appendix,  and  shakes  hands.  By  this  time  he  gets 
as  far  as  the  parlor  door,  and  catches  hold  of  the  knob 
and  holds  on  to  it  as  tightly  as  though  some  one  on  the 
other  side  were  trying  to  pull  it  through  the  door  and  run 
away  with  it.  And  he  stands  there  a  fidgetty  statue  of 
the  door  holder.  He  mentions,  for  not  more  than  the 
twentieth  time  that  evening  that  he  is  passionately  fond 
of  music  but  he  can't  sing.  Which  is  a  lie  ;  he  can. 
Did  she  go  to  the  Centennial  ?  ''  No."  "  Such  a  pity  " 
—  he  begins,  but  stops  in  terror,  lest  she  may  consider  his 
condolence  a  reflection  upon  her  financial  standing.  Did 
he  go.''  Oh,  yes;  yes;  he  says,  absently,  he  went.  Or, 
that  is  to  say,  no,  not  exactly.  He  did  not  exactly  go  to 
the  Centennial ;  he  staid  at  home.  In  fact,  he  had  not 
been  out  of  town  this  Summer.  Then  he  looks  at  the 
tender  little  face; he  looks  at  the  brown  eyes,  sparkling 
with  suppressed  merriment ;  he  looks  at  the  white  hands, 
dimpled  and  soft,  twin  daughters  of  the  snow;  and  the 
fairy  picture  grows  more  lovely  as  he  looks  at  it,  until  his 
heart  outruns  his  fears;  he  must  spe^ak,  he  must  say  some- 
thing impressive  and  ripe  with  meaning,  for  how  can  he 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  43 

go  away  with  this  suspense  in  his  breast?  His  heart 
trembles  as  does  his  hand  ;  his  quivering  lips  part,  and 
—  Laura  deftly  bides  a  vagrom  yawn  behind  her  fan. 
Good  night,  and  Tom  is  gone. 

There  is  a  dejected  droop  to  the  mustache  that  night, 
when  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  room  Tom  releases  his 
hands  from  the  despotic  gloves,  and  tenderly  soothes  two 
of  the  reddest,  puffiest  feet  that  ever  crept  out  of  boots 
not  half  their  own  size,  and  swore  in  mute,  but  eloquent 
anatomical  profanity  at  the  whole  race  of  bootmakers. 
And  his  heart  is  nearly  as  full  of  sorrow  and  bitterness 
as  his  boots.  It  appears  to  him  that  he  showed  off  to 
the  worst  possible  advantage ;  he  is  dimly  conscious  that 
he  acted  very  like  a  donkey,  and  he  has  the  not  entirely 
unnatural  impression  that  she  will  never  want  to  see  him 
again.  And  so  he  philosophically  and  manfully  makes 
up  his  mind  never,  never,  never,  to  think  of  her  again. 
And  then  he  immediately  proceeds,  in  the  manliest  and 
most  natural  way  in  the  world,  to  think  of  nothing  and 
nobody  else  under  the  sun  for  the  next  ten  hours.  How 
the  tender  little  face  does  haunt  him.  He  pitches  him- 
self into  bed  with  an  aimless  recklessness  that  tumbles 
pillows,  bolster,  and  sheets  into  one  shapeless,  wild, 
chaotic  mass,  and  he  goes  through  the  motions  of  going 
to  sleep,  like  a  man  who  would  go  to  sleep  by  steam. 
He  stands  his  pillow  up  on  end,  and  pounds  it  into  a 
wad,  and  he  props  his  head  upon  it  as  though  it  were  the 
guillotine  block.  He  lays  it  down  and  smooths  it  out 
level,  and  pats  all  the  wrinkles  out  of  it,  and  there  is 
more  sleeplessness  in  it  to  the  square  inch  than  there  is 
in  the  hungriest  mosquito  that  ever  sampled  a  martyr's 
blood.  He  gets  up  and  smokes  like  a  patent  stove, 
although  not  three  hours  ago  he  told  Laura  that  he 
de-tes- ted  tobacco. 


44  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

This  is  the  only  time  Tom  will  ever  go  through  this,  in 
exactly  this  way.  It  is  the  one  rare  golden  experience, 
the  one  bright,  rosy  dream  of  his  life.  He  may  live  to 
be  as  old  as  an  army  overcoat,  and  he  may  marry  as 
many  wives  as  Brigham  Young,  singly,  or  in  a  cluster, 
but  this  will  come  to  him  but  once.  Let  him  enjoy  all 
the  delightful  misery,  all  the  ecstatic  wretchedness,  all 
the  heavenly  forlornness  of  it  as  best  he  can.  And  he 
does  take  good,  solid,  edifying  misery  out  of  it.  How  he 
does  torture  himself  and  hate  Smith,  the  empty  headed 
donkey,  who  can  talk  faster  than  poor-  Tom  can  think, 
and  whose  mustache  is  black  as  Tom's  boots,  and  so  long 
that  he  can  pull  one  end  of  it  with  both  hands.  And  how 
he  does  detest  that  idiot  Brown,  who  plays  and  sings,  and 
goes  up  there  every  time  Tom  does,  and  claws  over  a  few 
old  forgotten  five-finger  exercises  and  calls  it  music;  who 
comes  up  there,  some  night  when  Tom  thinks  he  has  the 
evening  and  Laura  all  to  himself,  and  brings  up  an  old, 
tuneless,  voiceless,  cracked  guitar,  and  goes  crawling 
around  in  the  wet  grass  under  the  windows  and  makes 
night  perfectly  hideous  with  what  he  calls  a  serenade. 
And  he  speaks  French,  too,  the  beast.  Poor  Tom  ;  when 
Brown's  lingual  accomplishments  in  the  language  of 
Charlemagne  are  confined  to  — "aw  —  aw  —  er  ah — 
vooly  voo?"  and  on  state  occasions  to  the  additional 
grandeur  of  "  avy  voo  mong  shapo.'*"  But  poor  Tom 
who  once  covered  himself  with  confusion  by  telling 
Laura  that  his  favorite  in  "Robert  le  Diable"  was  the 
beautiful  aria,  "  Robert  toy  que  jam,"  considers  Brown  a 
very  prodigal  in  linguistic  attainments ;  another  Cardinal 
Mezzofanti;  and  hates  him  for  it  accordingly.  And  he 
hates  Daubs,  the  artist,  too,  who  was  up  there  one  even- 
ing and  made  an  off  hand  crayon  sketch  of  her  in  an 
album.     The   picture  looked    much     more   like  Daubs' 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  45 

mother,  and  Tom  knew  it,  but  Laura  said  it  was  oh  just 
delightfully,  perfectly  splendid,  and  Tom  has  hated 
Daubs  most  cordially  ever  since.  In  fact,  Tom  hates 
every  man  who  has  the  temerity  to  speak  to  her,  or 
whom  she  may  treat  with  ladj-like  courtesy.  Until 
there  comes  one  night  when  the  boots  of  the  inquisition 
pattern  sit  more  lightly  on  their  suffering  victims.  When 
Providence  has  been  on  Tom's  side  and  has  kept  Smith 
and  Daubs  and  Brown  away,  and  has  frightened  Tom 
nearly  to  death  by  showing  him  no  one  in  the  little 
parlor  with  its  old-fashioned  furniture  but  himself  and 
Laura  and  the  furniture.  When,  almost  without  know- 
ing how  or  why,  they  talk  about  life  and  its  realities 
instead  of  the  last  concert  or  the  next  lecture;  when  they 
talk  of  their  plans,  and  their  day  dreams  and  aspirations, 
and  their  ideals  of  real  men  and  women ;  when  they  talk 
about  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  days  long  gone  by,  grey 
and  dim  in  the  ages  that  are  ever  made  young  and  new 
by  the  lives  of  noble  men  and  noble  women  who  lived, 
and  did,  and  never  died  in  those  grand  old  days,  but 
lived  and  live  on,  as  imperishable  and  fadeless  in  their 
glory  as  the  glittering  stars  that  sang  at  creation's  dawn. 
When  the  room  seems  strangely  silent  when  their  voices 
hush;  when  the  flush  of  earnestness  upon  her  face  gives 
it  a  tinge  of  sadness  that  makes  it  more  beautiful  than 
ever;  when  the  dream  and  picture  of  a  home  Eden,  and 
home  life,  and  home  love,  grows  every  moment  more 
lovely,  more  entrancing  to  him  until  at  last  poor  blun- 
dering, stupid  Tom,  speaks  without  knowing  what  he  is 
going  to  say,  speaks  without  preparation  or  rehearsal, 
speaks,  and  his  honest,  natural,  manly  heart  touches  his 
faltering  lips  with  eloquence  and  tenderness  and  earnest- 
ness that  all  the  rhetoric  in  the  world  never  did  and 
never  will  inspire,  and .     That  is  all  we  know  about 


46  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

it.  Nobody  knows  what  is  said  or  how  it  is  done. 
Nobody.  Only  the  silent  stars  or  the  whispering  leaves, 
or  the  cat,  or  maybe  Laura's  younger  brother,  or  the 
hired  girl,  who  generally  bulges  in  just  as  Tom  reaches 
the  climax.  All  the  rest  of  us  know  about  it  is,  that  Tom 
doesn't  come  away  so  early  that  night,  and  that  when  he 
reaches  the  door  he  holds  a  pair  of  dimpled  hands 
instead  of  the  insensate  door  knob.  He  never  clings  to 
that  door  knob  again ;  never.  Unless  ma,  dear  ma,  has 
been  so  kind  as  to  bring  in  her  sewing  and  spend  the 
evening  with  them.  And  Tom  doesn't  hate  anybody, 
nor  want  to  kill  anybody  in  the  wide,  wide  world,  and  he 
feels  just  as  good  as  though  he  had  just  come  out  of  a 
six  months'- revival;  and  is  happy  enough  to  borrow 
money  of  his  worst  enemy. 

But,  there  is  no  rose  without  a  thorn.  Although,  I 
suppose,  on  an  inside  computation,  there  is,  in  this  weary 
old  world  as  much  as,  say  a  peck,  or  a  peck  and  a  half 
possibly,  of  thorns  without  their  attendant  roses.  Just 
the  raw,  bare  thorns.  In  the  highest  heaven  of  his 
newly  found  bliss,  Tom  is  suddenly  recalled  to  earth  and 
its  miseries  by  a  question  from  Laura  which  falls  like  a 
plummet  into  the  unrippled  sea  of  the  young  man's  hap- 
piness, and  fathoms  its  depths  in  the  shallowest  place. 
"  Has  her  own  Tom  "  —  as  distinguished  from  countless 
other  Toms,  nobody's  Toms,  unclaimed  Toms,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  swamp  lands  on  the  public  matri- 
monial domain  —  "Has  her  own  Tom  said  anything  to 
pa?"  "Oh,  yes!  pa;"  Tom  says,  "To  be  sure;  yes." 
Grim,  heavy  browed,  austere  pa.  The  living  embodi- 
ment of  business.  Wiry,  shrewd,  the  life  and  mainspring 
of  the  house  of  Tare  and  Tret.  "'M.  Well.  N'  no," 
Tom  had  not  exactly,  as  you  might  say,  poured  out  his 
heart  to  pa.     Somehow  or  other  he  had  a  rose-colored 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  47 

idea  that  the  thing  was  going  to  go  right  along  in  this 
way  forever.  Tom  had  an  idea  that  the  programme  was 
all  arranged,  printed  and  distributed,  rose-colored,  gilt- 
edged,  and  perfumed.  He  was  going  to  sit  and  hold 
Laura's  hands,  pa  was  to  stay  down  at  the  office,  and  ma 
was  to  make  her  visits  to  the  parlor  as  much  like  angels', 
for  their  rarity  and  brevity,  as  possible.  But  he  sees, 
now  that  the  matter  has  been  referred  to,  that  it  is  a 
grim  necessity.  And  Laura  doesn't  like  to  see  such  a 
spasm  of  terror  pass  over  Tom's  face;  and  her  coral  lips 
quiver  a  little  as  she  hides  her  flushed  face  out  of  sight 
on  Tom's  shoulder,  and  tells  him  how  kind  and  tender 
pa  has  always  been  with  her,  until  Tom  feels  positively 
jealous  of  pa.  And  she  tells  him  that  he  must  not  dread 
going  to  see  him,  for  pa  will  be  oh  so  glad  to  know  how 
happy,  happy,  happy  he  can  make  his  little  girl.  And 
as  she  talks  of  him,  the  hard  working,  old-fashioned, 
tender-  hearted  old  man,  who  loves  his  girls  as  though  he 
were  yet  only  a  big  boy,  her  heart  grows  tenderer,  and 
she  speaks  so  earnestly  and  eloquently  that  Tom,  at  first 
savagely  jealous  of  him,  is  persuaded  to  fall  in  love  with 
the  old  gentleman  —  he  calls  him  "Pa,"  too,  now,—  him- 
self. 

But  by  the  following  afternoon  this  feeling  is  very  faint. 
And  when  he  enters  the  counting  room  of  Tare  &  Tret, 
and  stands  before  pa  —  Oh,  land  of  love,  how  could 
Laura  ever  talk  so  about  such  a  man.  Stubbly  little  pa; 
with  a  fringe  of  the  most  obstinate  and  wiry  gray  hair 
standing  all  around  his  bald,  bald  head;  the  wiriest, 
grizzliest  mustache  bristling  under  his  nose ;  a  tuft  of 
tangled  beard  under  the  sharp  chin,  and  a  raspy  under- 
growth of  a  week's  run  on  the  thin  jaws ;  business,  busi- 
ness, business,  in  every  line  of  the  hard,  seamed  face,  and 
profit  and  loss,  barter  and  trade,  dicker  and  bargain,  in 


48  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

every  movement  of  the  nervous  hands.  Pa;  old  business  ! 
He  puts  down  the  newspaper  a  little  way,  and  looks  over 
the  top  of  it  as  Tom  announces  himself,  glancing  at  the 
young  man  with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  that  peer  through 
old  -  fashioned  iron  -  bowed  spectacles,  that  look  as  though 
they  had  known  these  eyes  and  done  business  with  them 
ever  since  they  wept  over  their  A  B  C's  or  peeped  into 
the  tall  stone  jar  Sunday  afternoon  to  look  for  the  dough- 
nuts. 

Tom,  who  had  felt  all  along  there  could  be  no  inspira- 
tion on  his  part  in  this  scene,  has  come  prepared.  At 
least  he  had  his  last  true  statement  at  his  tongue's  end 
when  he  entered  the  counting  room.  But  now,  it  seems 
to  him  that  if  he  had  been  brought  up  in  a  circus,  and 
cradled  inside  of  a  sawdust  ring,  and  all  his  life  trained 
to  twirl  his  hat,  he  couldn't  do  it  better,  nor  faster,  nor 
be  more  utterly  incapable  of  doing  anything  else.  At 
last  he  swallows  a  lump  in  his  throat  as  big  as  a  ballot 
box,  and  faintly  gasps,  "  Good  morning."  Mr.  Tret 
hastens  to  recognize  him.  "  Eh  }  oh  ;  yes  ;  yes  ;  yes  ;  I 
see ;  young  Bostwick,  from  Dope  &  Middlerib's.  Oh  yes. 
Well  — .''  "  "I  have  come,  sir,"  gasps  Tom,  thinking  all 
around  the  world  from  Cook's  explorations  to  "  Captain 
Riley's  Narrative,"  for  the  first  line  of  that  speech  that 
Tare  &  Tret  have  just  scared  out  of  him  so  completely 
that  he  doesn't  believe  he  ever  knew  a  word  of  it.  "  I 
have  come  —  "  and  he  thinks  if  his  lips  didn't  get  so  dry 
and  hot  they  make  his  teeth  ache,  that  he  could  get 
along  with  it;  "I  have,  sir,  —  come,  Mr.  Tret;  Mr.  Tret, 
sir  —  I  have  come  —  I  am  come  —  "  "Yes,  ye-es,"  says 
Mr.  Tret,  in  the  wildest  bewilderment,  but  in  no  very 
encouraging  tones,  thinking  the  young  man  probably 
wants  to  borrow  money ;  "  Ye-es ;  I  see  you've  come. 
Well;    that's   all  right;    glad   to  see  you.     Yes,   you've 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  49 

come?"  Tom's  hat  is  now  making  about  nine  hundred 
and  eighty  revolutions  per  minute,  and  apparently  not 
running  up  to  half  its  full  capacity.  "  Sir ;  Mr.  Tret,"  he 
resumes,  "  I  have  come,  sir;  Mr.  Tret  —  I  am  here  to  — 
to  sue  —  to  sue,  Mr.  Tret  —  I  am  here  to  sue  —  "  "Sue, 
eh  ?  "  the  old  man  echoes  sharply,  with  a  belligerent 
rustle  of  the  newspaper;  "sue  Tare  &  Tret,  eh.^  Well, 
that's  right,  young  man  ;  that's  right.  Sue,  and  get  dam- 
ages. We'll  give  you  all  the  law  you  want."  Tom's 
head  is  so  hot,  and  his  heart  is  so  cold,  that  he  thinks 
they  must  be  about  a  thousand  miles  apart.  "  Sir,"  he 
explains,  "  that  isn't  it.  It  isn't  that.  I  only  want  to 
ask  —  I  have  long  known  —  Sir,"  he  adds,  as  the  open- 
ing lines  of  his  speech  come  to  him  like  a  message  from 
heaven,  "  Sir,  you  have  a  flower,  a  tender  lovely  blossom; 
chaste  as  the  snow  that  crowns  the  mountain's  brow; 
fresh  as  the  breath  of  morn;  lovelier  than  the  rosy- 
fingered  hours  that  fly  before  Aurora's  car;  pure  as  the 
lily  kissed  by  dew.  This  precious  blossom,  watched  by 
your  paternal  eyes,  the  object  of  your  tender  care  and 
solicitude,  1  ask  of  you.  I  would  wear  it  in  my  heart,  and 
guard  and  cherish  it — and  in  the — "  "  Oh-h,  ye-es,  yes, 
yes,"  the  old  man  says  soothingly,  beginning  to  see  that 
Tom  is  only  drunk,  "  Oh  yes,  yes,  I  don't  know  much 
about  them  myself;  my  wife  and  the  girls  generally  keep 
half  the  windows  in  the  house  littered  up  with  them, 
Winter  and  Summer,  every  window  so  full  of  house 
plants  the  sun  can't  shine  in.  Come  up  to  the  house, 
they'll  give  you  all  you  can  carry  away,  give  you  a  hat 
full  of  'em."  "No,  no,  no;  you  don't  understand,"  says 
poor  Tom,  and  old  Mr.Tret  now  observes  that  Tom  is  very 
drunk  indeed.  "  It  isn't  that,  sir.  Sir,  that  isn't  it.  I  — 
I — I  want  to  marry  your  daughter!  "  And  there  it  is  at 
last,  as  bluntly  as  though  Tom  had  wadded  it  into  a  gun 


50  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

and  shot  it  at  the  old  man.  Mr.  Tret  does  not  say  any- 
thing for  twenty  seconds.  Tom  tells  Laura  that  evening 
that  it  was  two  hours  and  a  half  before  her  father  opened 
his  head.  Then  he  says,  "Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes,  yes;  to  be 
sure;  to  —  be  —  sure."  And  then  the  long  pause  is 
dreadful.  "  Yes,  yes.  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know 
about  that,  young  man.  Said  any  thing  to  Jennie  about 
it.''  "  "  It  isn't  Jennie,"  Tom  gasps,  seeing  a  new  Rubicon 

to  cross ;  "  its "    "  Oh,  Julie,  eh  ?  well,  I  don't " 

"  No,  sir,"  interjects  the  despairing  Tom,  "  it  isn't  Julie, 

it's "    "Sophie,  eh?    Oh,  well,  Sophie "    "Sir," 

says  Tom,  "  If  you  please,  sir,  it  isn't  Sophie,  its " 

"Not  Minnie,  surely?     Why,  Minnie  is  hardly  —  well,  I 

don't  know.      Young  folks  get  along  faster  than " 

"  Dear  Mr.  Tret,"  breaks  in  the  distracted  lover,  "  it's 
Laura.'* 

As  they  sit  and  stand  there,  looking  at  each  other, 
the  dingy  old  counting-room,  with  the  heavy  shadows 
lurking  in  every  corner,  with  its  time-worn,  heavy  brown 
furnishings,  with  the  scanty  dash  of  sunlight  breaking  in 
through  the  dusty  window,  looks  like  an  old  Rubens 
painting;  the  beginning  and  the  finishing  of  a  race:  the 
old  man,  nearly  ready  to  lay  his  armor  off,  glad  to  be  so 
nearly  and  so  safely  through  with  the  race  and  the  fight 
that  Tom,  in  all  his  inexperience  and  with  all  the  rash 
enthusiasm  and  conceit  of  a  young  man,  is  just  getting 
ready  to  run  and  fight,  or  fight  and  run,  you  never  can 
tell  which  until  he  is  through  with  it.  And  the  old  man, 
looking  at  Tom,  and  through  him,  and  past  him,  feels 
his  old  heart  throb  almost  as  quickly  as  does  that  of  the 
young  man  before  him.  For  looking  down  a  long  vista 
of  happy,  eventful  years,  bordered  with  roseate  hopes  and 
bright  dreams  and  anticipations,  he  sees  a  tender  face, 
radiant  with  smiles  and  kindled  with  blushes  ;  he  feels  a 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  5I 

soft  hand  drop  into  his  own  with  its  timid  pressure ;  he 
sees  the  vision  open,  under  the  glittering  summer  stars, 
down  mossy  hillsides,  where  the  restless  breezes,  sighing 
through  the  rustling  leaves,  whispered  their  tender  secret 
to  the  noisy  katydids;  strolling  along  the  winding  paths, 
deep  in  the  bending  wild  grass,  down  in  the  star-lit  aisles 
of  the  dim  old  woods ;  loitering  where  the  meadow 
brook  sparkles  over  the  white  pebbles  or  murmurs  around 
the  great  flat  stepping-stones;  lingering  on  the  rustic 
foot-bridge,  while  he  gazes  into  eyes  eloquent  and  tender 
in  their  silent  love-light;  up  through  the  long  pathway 
of  years,  flecked  and  checkered  with  sunshine  and  cloud, 
with  storm  and  calm,  through  years  of  struggle,  trial, 
sorrow,  disappointment,  out  at  last  into  the  grand,  glo- 
rious, crowning  beauty  and  benison  of  hard-won  and 
well-deserved  success,  until  he  sees  now  this  second 
Laura,  re-imaging  her  mother  as  she  was  in  the  dear  old 
days.  And  he  rouses  from  his  dream  with  a  start,  and 
he  tells  Tom  he'll  "  Talk  it  over  with  Mrs.  Tret,  and  see 
him  again  in  the  morning." 

And  so  they  are  duly  and  formally  engaged;  and  the 
very  first  thing  they  do,  they  make  the  very  sensible, 
though  very  uncommon,  resolution  to  so  conduct  them- 
selves that  no  one  will  ever  suspect  it.  And  they  succeed 
admirably.  No  one  ever  does  suspect  it.  They  come 
into  church  in  time  to  hear  the  benediction — every  time 
they  come  together.  They  shun  all  other  people  when 
church  is  dismissed,  and  are  seen  to  go  home  alone  the 
longest  way.  At  pic-nics  they  are  missed  not  niore  than 
fifty  times  a  day,  and  are  discovered  sitting  under  a  tree, 
holding  each  other's  hands,  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes 
and  saying — nothing.  When  he  throws  her  shawl  over 
her  shoulders,  he  never  looks  at  what  he  is  doing,  but 
looks  straight  into  her  starry  eyes,  throws  the  shawl  right 


52 


RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


over  her  natural  curls,  and  drags  them  out  by  the  hair- 
pins. If,  at  sociable  or  festival,  they  are  left  alone  in  a 
dressing-room  a  second  and  a  half,  Laura  emerges  with 
her  ruffle  standing  around  like  a  railroad  accident;  and 
Tom  has  enough  complexion  on  his  shoulder  to  go 
around  a  young  ladies'  seminary.  When  they  drive  out, 
they  sit  in  a  buggy  with  a  seat  eighteen  inches  wide,  and 
there  is  two  feet  of  unoccupied  room  at  either  end  of  it. 
Long  years  afterward,  when  they  drive,  a  street  car  isn't 
too  wide  for  them;  and  when  they  walk,  you  could  drive 
four  loads  of  hay  between  them. 

And  yet,  as  carefully  as  they  guard  their  precious  little 
secret,  and  as  cautious  and  circumspect  as  they  are  in 
their  walk  and  behavior,  it  gets  talked  around  that  they 
are  engaged.     People  are  so  prying  and  suspicious. 

And  so  the  months  of  their  engagement  run  on;  never 
before,  or  since,  time  flies  so  swiftly — unless,  it  may  be, 
some  time  when  Tom  has  an  acceptance  in  bank  to  meet 
in  two  days,  that  he  can't  lift  one  end  of — and  the  wed- 
ding day  dawns,  fades,  and  the  wedding  is  over.  Over, 
with  its  little  circle  of  delighted  friends,  with  its  ripples 
of  pleasure  and  excitement,  with  its  touches  of  home 
love  and  home  life,  that  leave  their  lasting  impress  upon 
Laura's  heart,  although  Tom,  with  man-like  blindness, 
never  sees  one  of  them.  Over,  with  ma,  with  the  thou- 
sand and  one  anxieties  attendant  on  the  grand  event  in 
her  daughter's  life  hidden  away  under  her  dear  old 
smiling  face,  down,  away  down  under  the  tender,  glisten- 
ing eyes,  deep  in  the  loving  heart;  ma,  hurrying  here 
and  fluttering  there,  in  the  intense  excitement  of  some- 
thing strangely  made  up  of  happiness  and  grief,  of 
apprehension  and  hope;  ma,  with  her  sudden  disappear- 
ances and  flushed  reappearances,  indicating  struggles 
and  triumphs  in  the  turbulent  world  down   stairs;    ma, 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  53 

with  the  new-fangled  belt,  with  the  dinner-plate  buckles, 
fastened  on  wrong  side  foremost,  and  the  flowers  dangling 
down  the  wrong  side  of  her  head,  to  Sophie's  intense 
horror  and  pantomimic  telegraphy ;  ma,  flying  here  and 
there,  seeing  that  every  thing  is  going  right,  from  kitchen 
to  dressing-rooms;  looking  after  everything  and  every- 
body, with  her  hands  and  heart  just  as  full  as  they  will 
hold,  and  more  voices  calling  "ma,"  from  every  room  in 
the  house,  than  you  would  think  one  hundred  mas  could 
answer.  But  she  answers  them  all,  and  she  sees  after 
everything,  and  just  in  the  nick  of  time  prevents  Mr. 
Tret  from  going  down  stairs  and  attending  the  ceremony 
in  a  loud-figured  dressing-gown  and  green  slippers;  ma, 
who,  with  the  quivering  lip  and  glistening  eyes,  has  to  be 
cheerful,  and  lively,  and  smiling;  because,  if,  as  she 
thinks  of  the  dearest  and  best  of  her  flock  going  away 
from  her  lold,  to  put  her  life  and  her  happiness  into 
another's  keeping,  she  gives  way  for  one  moment,  a  dozen 
reproachful  voices  cry  out,  "Oh-h  ma!"  How  it  all 
comes  back  to  Laura,  like  the  tender  shadows  of  a  dream, 
long  years  after  the  dear,  dear  face,  furrowed  with  marks 
of  patient  sufl*ering  and  loving  care,  rests  under  the  snow 
and  the  daisies;  when  the  mother  love  that  glistened  in 
the  tender  eyes  has  closed  in  darkness  on  the  dear  old 
home;  and  the  nerveless  hands,  crossed  in  dreamless 
sleep  upon  the  pulseless  breast,  can  never  again  touch 
the  children's  heads  with  caressing  gesture;  how  the 
sweet  vision  comes  to  Laura,  as  it  shone  on  her  wedding 
morn,  rising  in  tenderer  beauty  through  the  blinding 
tears  her  own  excess  of  happiness  calls  up,  as  the  rain- 
bow spans  the  cloud  only  through  the  mingling  of  the 
golden  sunshine  and  the  falling  rain. 

And  pa,  dear  old   shabby  pa,  whose  clothes  will  not  fit 
him  as  they  fit  other  men;  who  always  dresses  jast  a 


54  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

year  and  a  half  behind  the  style;  pa,  wandering  up  and 
down  through  the  house,  as  though  he  were  lost  in  his 
own  home,  pacing  through  the  hall  like  a  sentinel,  blun- 
dering aimlessly  and  listlessly  into  rooms  where  he  has 
no  business,  and  being  repelled  therefrom  by  a  chorus  of 
piercing  shrieks  and  hysterical  giggling;  pa,  getting  off 
his  well  worn  jokes  with  an  assumption  of  merriment 
that  seems  positively  real;  pa,  who  creeps  away  by  him- 
self once  in  a  while,  and  leans  his  face  against  the 
window,  and  sighs,  in  direct  violation  of  all  strict  house- 
hold regulations,  right  against  the  glass,  as  he  thinks  of 
his  little  girl  going  away  to-day  from  the  home  whose 
love  and  tenderness  and  patience  she  has  known  so  well. 
Only  yesterday,  it  seems  to  him,  the  little  baby  girl, 
bringing  the  first  music  of  baby  prattle  into  his  home; 
then  a  little  girl  in  short  dresses,  with  school-girl  troubles 
and  school-girl  pleasures;  then  an  older  little  girl,  out 
of  school  and  into  society,  but  a  little  girl  to  pa  still. 

And  then .     But,  somehow,  this  is  as  far  as  pa  can 

get;  for  he  sees,  in  the  flight  of  this,  the  first,  the  follow- 
ing flight  of  the  other  fledglings;  and  he  thinks  how 
silent  and  desolate  the  old  nest  will  be  when  they  have 
all  mated  and  flown  away.  He  thinks,  when  their  flight 
shall  have  made  other  homes  bright  and  cheery  and 
sparkling,  with  music  and  prattle  and  laughter,  how  it 
will  leave  the  old  home  hushed  and  quiet  and  still.  How, 
in  the  long,  lonesome  afternoons,  mother  will  sit  by  the 
empty  cradle  that  rocked  them  all,  murmuring  the  sweet 
old  cradle  songs  that  brooded  over  all  their  sleep,  until 
the  rising  tears  check  the  swaying  cradle  and  choke  the 
song— and  back,  over  river  and  prairie  and  mountain, 
that  roll  and  stretch  and  rise  between  the  old  home  and 
the  new  ones,  comes  back  the  prattle  of  her  little  ones, 
the  rippling  music  of  their  laughter,  the  tender  cadences 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  55 

of  their  songs,  until  the  hushed  old  home  is  haunted  by 
memories  of  its  children — gray  and  old  they  may  be, 
with  other  children  clustering  about  their  knees;  but  to 
the  dear  old  home  they  are  "the  children"  still.  And 
dreaming  thus,  when  pa  for  a  moment  finds  his  little  girl 
alone — his  little  girl  who  is  going  away  out  of  the  home 
whose  love  she  knows,  into  a  home  whose  tenderness 
and  patience  are  all  untried — he  holds  her  in  his  arms  and 
whispers  the  most  fervent  blessing  that  ever  throbbed 
from  a  father's  heart;  and  Laura's  wedding  day  would  be 
incomplete  and  unfeeling  without  her  tears.  So  is  the 
pattern  of  our  life  made  up  of  smiles  and  tears,  shadow 
and  sunshine.  Tom  sees  none  of  these  background 
pictures  of  the  wedding  day.  He  sees  none  of  its  real, 
heartfelt  earnestness.  He  sees  only  the  bright,  sunny 
tints  and  happy  figures  that  the  tearful,  shaded  back- 
ground throws  out  in  golden  relief;  but  never  stops  to 
think  that,  without  the  shadows,  the  clouds,  and  the 
somber  tints  of  the  background,  the  picture  would  be 
flat,  pale,  and  lusterless. 

And  then,  the  presents.  The  assortment  of  brackets, 
serviceable,  ornamental  and — cheap.  The  French  clock, 
that  never  went,  that  does  not  go,  that  never  will  go. 
And  the  nine  potato  mashers.  The  eight  mustard  spoons. 
The  three  cigar  stands.  Eleven  match  safes ;  assorted 
patterns.  A  dozen  tidies,  charity  fair  styles,  blue  dog  on 
a  yellow  background,  barking  at  a  green  boy  climbing 
over  a  red  fence,  after  seal  brown  apples.  The  two 
churns,  old  pattern,  straight  handle  and  dasher,  and  they 
have  as  much  thought  of  keeping  a  cow  as  they  have  of 
keeping  a  section  of  artillery.  Five  things  they  didn't 
know  the  names  of,  and  never  could  find  any  body  who 
could  tell  what  they  were  for.  And  a  nickel  plated 
pocket  corkscrew,  that  Tom,  in  a  fine  burst  of  indigna- 


56  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

tion,  throws  out  of  the  window,  which  Laura  says  is  just 
like  her  own  impulsive  Tom.  And  not  long  after  her 
own  impulsive  Tom  catches  his  death  of  cold  and  ruins 
the  knees  of  his  best  trowsers  crawling  around  in  the 
wet  grass  hunting  for  that  same  corkscrew.  Which  is 
also  just  like  her  own  impulsive  Tom. 

And    then,  the   young    people    go    to    work    and    buy 
e-v-e-r-y  thing  they  need,  the  day  they  go  to  housekeep- 
ing.    Every  thing.     Just  as  well,  Tom  says,  to  get  every 
thing  at  once  and  have  it  delivered  right  up  at  the  house, 
as  to  spend  five  or  six  or  ten  or  twenty  years  in  stocking 
up  a  house,  as  his  father  did.     And  Laura  thinks  so  too, 
and  she  wonders  that  Tom   should  know  so  much  more 
than    his   father.     This    worries   Tom   himself,  when   he 
thinks  of  it,  and  he  never  rightly  understands   how  it  is, 
until  he  is  forty  -  five  or  fifty  years  old  and  has  a  Tom 
of  his  own  to  direct  and  advise  him.     So  they  make  out  a 
list,  and  revise  it,  and   rewrite  it,  until  they  have  every 
thing  down,  complete,  and  it  isn't  until  supper  is  ready 
the  first   day,   that  they  discover   there  isn't  a  knife,  a 
fork,  or  a  plate  or  a  spoon  in  the  new  house.     And  the 
first  day  the  washerwoman  comes,  and  the  water  is  hot, 
and  the  clothes  are  all  ready,  it  is  discovered  that  there 
isn't  a  wash  -  tub  nearer  than  the  grocery.     And  further 
along  in  the  day  the  discovery  is  made  that  while  Tom 
has  bought  a  clothes  line  that  will  reach  to  the  north  pole 
and  back,  and  then  has  to  be   coiled  up  a  mile  or  two  in 
the  back  yard,  there  isn't  a  clothes  pin  in  the  settlement. 
And  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  two,  Tom  slowly  awakens 
to  the  realization  of  the  fact  that  he   has  only  begun  to 
get.     And  if  he  should  live  two  thousand  years,  which 
he  rarely   does,  and  possibly  may  not,  he  would   think, 
just   before  he  died,  of  something  they  had  wanted  the 
worst  way  for  five  centuries,  and  had  either  been  too  poor 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYE  1  EMS. 


57 


to  get,  or  Tom  had  always  forgotten  to  bring  up.  So 
long  as  he  lives,  Tom  goes  on  bringing  home  things  that 
they  need  —  absolute,  simple  necessities,  that  were  never 
so  much  as  hinted  at  in  that  exhaustive  list.  And  old 
Time  comes  along,  and  knowing  that  the  man  in  that 
new  house  will  never  get  through  bringing  things  up  to  it, 
helps  him  out  and  comes  around  and  brings  things,  too. 
Brings  a  gray  hair  now  and  then,  to  stick  in  Tom's  mus- 
tache, which  has  grown  too  big  to  be  ornamental,  and 
too  wayward  and  unmanageable  to  be  comfortable.  He 
brings  little  cares  and  little  troubles,  and  little  trials  and 
little  butcher  bills,  and  little  grocer's  bills,  and  little 
tailor  bills,  and  nice  large  millinery  bills,  that  pluck  at 
Tom's  mustache  and  stroke  it  the  wrong  way  and  make 
it  look  more  and  more  as  pa's  did  the  first  time  Tom 
saw  it.  He  brings,  by  and  by,  the  prints  of  baby  fingers 
and  pats  them  around  on  the  dainty  wall  paper.  Brings, 
some  times,  a  voiceless  messenger  that  lays  its  icy  fingers 
on  the  baby  Hps,  and  hushes  their  dainty  prattle,  and  in 
the  baptism  of  its  first  sorrow,  the  darkened  little  home 
has  its  dearest  and  tenderest  tie  to  the  upper  fold. 
Brings,  by  and  by,  the  tracks  of  a  boy's  muddy  boots, 
and  scatters  them  all  up  and  down  the  clean  porch. 
Brings  a  messenger,  one  day,  to  take  the  younger  Tom 
away  to  college.  And  the  quiet  the  boy  leaves  behind 
him  is  so  much  harder  to  endure  than  his  racket,  that 
old  Tom  is  tempted  to  keep  a  brass  band  in  the  house 
until  the  boy  comes  back.  But  old  Time  brings  him 
home  at  last,  and  it  does  make  life  seem  terribly  real 
and  earnest  to  Tom,  and  how  the  old  laugh  rings  out 
and  ripples  all  over  Laura's  face,  when  they  see  old 
Tom's  first  mustache  budding  and  struggling  into  second 
life  on  young  Tom's  face. 

And  still  old  Time  comes   round,  bringing  each  year 


58        RISE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  MUSTACHE, 

whiter  frosts  to  scatter  on  the  whitening  mustache,  and 
brighter  gleams  of  silver  to  glint  the  brown  of  Laura's 
hair.  Bringing  the  blessings  of  peaceful  old  age  and  a 
lovelocked  home  to  crown  these  noble,  earnest,  real  human 
lives,  bristling  with  human  faults,  marred  with  human 
mistakes,  scarred  and  seamed  and  rifted  with  human 
troubles,  and  crowned  with  the  compassion  that  only  per- 
fection can  send  upon  imperfection.  Comes,  with  happy 
memories  of  the  past,  and  quiet  confidence  for  the  future. 
Comes,  with  the  changing  scenes  of  day  and  night ;  with 
winter's  storm  and  summer's  calm ;  comes,  with  the 
sunny  peace  and  the  backward  dreams  of  age;  comes, 
until  one  day,  the  eye  of  the  relentless  old  reaper  rests 
upon  old  Tom,  standing  right  in  the  swarth,  amid  the 
golden  corn.  The  sweep  of  the  noiseless  scythe  that 
never  turns  its  edge,  Time  passes  on,  old  Tom  steps 
out  of  young  Tom's  way,  and  the  cycle  of  a  life  is 
complete. 


GETTING  READY  FOR  THE  TRAIN, 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  59 


GETTING   READY   FOR   THE   TRAIN. 


WHEN  they  reached  the  depot,  Mr.  Man  and 
his  wife  gazed  in  unspeakable  disappointment 
at  the  receding  train,  which  was  just  puUing  away  from 
the  bridge  switch  at  the  rate  of  a  thousand  miles  a 
minute.  Their  first  impulse  was  to  run  after  it;  but  as 
the  train  was  out  of  sight,  and  whistling  for  Sagetown 
before  they  could  act  upon  the  impulse,  they  remained 
in  the  carriage  and  disconsolately  turned  the  horses' 
heads  homeward. 

"  It  all  comes  of  having  to  wait  for  a  woman  to  get 
ready,"  Mr.  Man  broke  the  silence  with,  very  grimly. 

"  I  was  ready  before  you  were,"  replied  his  wife. 

"Great  heavens!'*  cried  Mr.  Man,  in  irrepressible 
impatience,  jerking  the  horses'  jaws  out  of  place,  "  just 
listen  to  that!  And  I  sat  out  in  the  buggy  ten  minutes, 
yelling  at  you  to  come  along,  until  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood heard  me!" 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Man,  with  the  provoking  pla- 
cidity which  no  one  can  assume  but  a  woman,  "  and  every 
time  I  started  down  stairs  you  sent  me  back  for  some- 
thing you  had  forgotten." 

Mr.  Man  groaned.  "  This  is  too  much  to  bear,"  he 
said,  "  when  everybody  knows  that  if  I  was  going  to 
Europe,  I  would  just  rush  into  the  house,  put  on  a  clean 
shirt,  grab  up  my  gripsack,  and  fly;  while  you  would 
want  at  least  six  months  for  preliminary  preparations, 
and  then  dawdle  around  the  whole  day  of  starting  until 
every  train  had  left  town." 


6o  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Well,  the  upshot  of  the  matter  was,  that  the  Mans  put 
off  their  visit  to  Peoria  until  the  next  week,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  each  one  should  get  ready  and  go  down  to 
the  train  and  go,  and  the  one  who  failed  to  get  ready- 
should  be  left.  The  day  of  the  match  came  around  in 
due  time.  The  train  was  to  go  at  10:30,  and  Mr.  Man, 
after  attending  to  his  business,  went  home  at  9:45- 

"Now  then,"  he  shouted,  "only  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  to  train  time.  Fly  around;  a  fair  field  and  no 
favors,  you  know." 

And  away  they  flew.  Mr.  Man  bulged  into  this  room 
and  rushed  through  that  one,  and  dived  into  one  closet 
after  another  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  chuckling  under 
his  breath  all  the  time,  to  think  how  cheap  Mrs.  Man 
would  feel  when  he  started  off  alone.  He  stopped  on 
his  way  up  stairs  to  pull  off  his  heavy  boots,  to  save 
time.  For  the  same  reason  he  pulled  off  his  coat  as  he 
ran  through  the  dining-room,  and  hung  it  on  the  corner 
of  the  silver  closet.  Then  he  jerked  off  his  vest  as  he 
rushed  through  the  hall,  and  tossed  it  on  a  hook  in  the 
hat-rack,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  his  own  room  he  was 
ready  to  plunge  into  his  clean  clothes.  He  pulled  out  a 
bureau  drawer  and  began  to  paw  at  the  things,  like  a 
Scotch  terrier  after  a  rat. 

"Eleanor!"  he  shrieked,  "where  are  my  shirts?" 

"  In  your  bureau  drawer,"  quietly  replied  Mrs.  Man, 
who  was  standing  placidly  before  a  glass,  calmly  and 
deliberately  coaxing  a  refractory  crimp  into  place. 

"Well,  by  thunder,  they  ain't!"  shouted  Mr.  Man,  a 
little  annoyed.  "I've  emptied  every  last  thing  out  of  the 
drawer,  and  there  isn't  a  thing  in  it  that  I  ever  saw  before." 

Mrs.  Man  stepped  back  a  few  paces,  held  her  head  on 
one  side,  and  after  satisfying  herself  that  the  crimp  would- 
do,  and  would  stay  where  she  had  put  it,  replied : 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  6l 

"These  things  scattered  around  on  the  floor  are  all 
mine.  Probably  you  haven't  been  looking  in  your  own 
drawer." 

"  I  don't  see,"  testily  observed  Mr.  Man,  "  why  you 
couldn't  have  put  my  things  out  for  me,  when  you  had 
nothing  else  to  do  all  morning." 

"  Because,"  said  Mrs.  Man,  settling  herself  into  an 
additional  article  of  raiment  with  awful  deliberation, 
"  nobody  put  mine  out  for  me.  *A  fair  field  and  no  favors,' 
my  dear." 

Mr.  Man  plunged  into  his  shirt  like  a  bull  at  a  red  flag. 

"  Foul !  "  he  shouted,  in  malicious  triumph.  "  No  but- 
ton on  the  neck!" 

"  Because,"  said  Mrs.  Man,  sweetly,  after  a  deliberate 
stare  at  the  fidgeting,  impatient  man,  during  which  she 
buttoned  her  dress  and  put  eleven  pins  where  they  would 
do  the  most  good,  "because  you  have  got  the  shirt  on 
wrong  side  out." 

When  Mr.  Man  slid  out  of  that  shirt,  he  began  to 
sweat.  He  dropped  the  shirt  three  times  before  he  got 
it  on,  and  while  it  was  over  his  head  he  heard  the  clock 
strike  ten.  When  his  head  came  through  he  saw  Mrs. 
Man  coaxing  the  ends  and  bows  of  her  neck -tie. 

"  Where's  my  shirt  studs  ?  "  he  cried. 

Mrs.  Man  went  out  into  another  room  and  presently 
came  back  with  gloves  and  hat,  and  saw  Mr.  Man  empty- 
ing all  the  boxes  he  could  find  in  and  about  the  bureau. 
Then  she  said : 

"  In  the  shirt  you  just  took  off." 

Mrs.  Man  put  on  her  gloves  while  Mr.  Man  hunted  up 
and  down  the  room  for  his  cuff  buttons. 

"  Eleanor,"  he  snarled,  at  last,  "  I  believe  you  must 
know  where  those  buttons  are." 

"  I  haven't  seen  them,"  said  the  lady,  settling  her  hat, 


62  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  didn't  you  lay  them  down  on  the  window-sill  in  the 
sitting  room  last  night  ?  " 

Mr.  Man  remembered,  and  he  went  down  stairs  on  the 
run.  He  stepped  on  one  of  his  boots,  and  was  imme- 
diately landed  in  the  hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  with 
neatness  and  dispatch,  attended  in  the  transmission  with 
more  bumps  than  he  could  count  with  a  Webb's  adder, 
and  landing  with  a  bang  like  the  Hellgate  explosion. 

"  Are  you  nearly  ready,  Algernon  ? "  asked  the  wife  of 
his  family,  sweetly,  leaning  over  the  balusters. 

The  unhappy  man  groaned.  "  Can't  you  throw  me 
down  that  other  boot?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Man  pityingly  kicked  it  down  to  him. 

"My  valise.'*"  he  inquired,  as  he  tugged  away  at  the 
boot. 

"  Up  in  your  dressing  room,"  she  answered. 

"  Packed  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know;  unless  you  packed  it  yourself,  prob- 
ably not,"  she  repUed,  with  her  hand  on  the  door  knob  ; 
"  I  had  barely  time  to  pack  my  own." 

She  was  passing  out  of  the  gate,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  he  shouted : 

' "  Where  in  the  name  of  goodness  did  you  put  my  vest  ? 
It  has  all  my  money  in  it !  " 

"You  threw  it  on  the  hat  rack,"  she  called  back, 
"good-bye,  dear." 

Before  she  got  to  the  corner  of  the  street  she  was 
hailed  again. 

"Eleanor!  Eleanor!  Eleanor  Man!  Did  you  wear  off 
my  coat.**  " 

She  paused  and  turned,  after  signaling  the  streetcar 
to  stop,  and  cried, 

"  You  threw  it  on  the  silver  closet." 

And  the  street  car  engulfed  her  graceful  figure  and  she 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  6^ 

was  seen  no  more.  But  the  neighbors  say  that  they 
heard  Mr.  Man  charging  up  and  down  the  house,  rush- 
ing out  at  the  front  door  every  now  and  then,  and  shriek- 
ing up  the  deserted  streets  after  the  unconscious  Mrs. 
Man,  to  know  where  his  hat  was,  and  where  she  put  the 
valise  key,  and  if  she  had  any  clean  socks  and  under- 
shirts, and  that  there  wasn't  a  linen  collar  in  the  house. 
And  when  he  went  away  at  last,  he  left  the  kitchen  door, 
side  door  and  front  door,  all  the  down- stair  windows  and 
the  front  gate  wide  open.  And  the  loungers  around  the 
depot  were  somewhat  amused  just  as  the  train  was  pull- 
ing out  of  sight  down  in  the  yards,  to  see  a  flushed,  per- 
spiring man,  with  his  hat  on  sideways,  his  vest  buttoned 
two  buttons  too  high,  his  cuffs  unbuttoned  and  neck -tie 
flying  and  his  grip -sack  flapping  open  and  shut  like  a 
demented  shutter  on  a  March  night,  and  a  door  key  in 
his  hand,  dash  wildly  across  the  platform  and  halt  in  the 
middle  of  the  track,  glaring  in  dejected,  impotent,  wrath- 
ful mortification  at  the  departing  train,  and  shaking  his 
trembling  fist  at  a  pretty  woman,  who  was  throwing  kisses 
at  him  from  the  rear  platform  of  the  last  car. 


64  I^lSE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


DRIVING   THE   COW. 


MR.  FORBES  is  a  nervous  man,  and  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  when  Mrs.  Forbes  told  him  the  cow 
had  got  out  at  the  front  gate,  he  was  so  startled  and 
annoyed  that  he  made  some  disjointed  allusions  to  the 
scene  of  General  Newton's  dynamite  explosions.  When 
he  went  out  the  cow  was  standing  very  quietly  in  the 
street,  just  in  front  of  the  gate,  chewing  her  cud,  best 
navy,  and  looking  as  though  she  were  trying  to  think  of 
something  mean  to  say.  Mr.  Forbes  got  around  in  front 
of  her,  raised  both  his  hands  above  his  head,  and,  extend- 
ing his  arms,  waved  them  slowly  up  and  down,  at  the 
same  time  ejaculating,  "  Shoo !  shoo,  there,  I  say !  Shoo ! " 
The  cow  turned  her  cud  over  to  the  other  side,  and 
gazed  at  the  apparition  in  some  astonishment,  and  then 
began  to  back  away  and  maneuver  to  get  around  it.  It 
is  a  remarkable  fact,  which  we  have  never  heard  Prof. 
Huxley  explain,  that  a  cow  is  perfectly  willing  to  go  in 
any  direction  save  the  one  in  which  you  attempt  to  drive 
her.  When  the  cow  began  to.  back,  Mr.  Forbes  slowed 
up  with  his  arms  and  assumed  a  more  coaxing  tone. 
When  the  cow  started  to  make  a  flank  movement  off  to 
the  right,  Mr.  Forbes  kept  in  front  of  her  by  sidling 
across  in  the  same  direction,  at  the  same  time  raising  his 
voice  and  accelerating  the  movement  of  his  arms.  When 
the  cow  made  several  cautious  diversions  and  reconnois- 
sances  this  way  and  that,  Mr.  Forbes  was  compelled  to 
keep  up  a  kind  of  Chinese  cotillon,  dancing  to  and  fro 
across  the  road,  keeping  time  with  his  shuffling  feet  and 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYE  lEMS.  65 

waving  hands,  and  the  children  on  their  way  to  school 
gathered  in  Httle  groups  on  the  sidewalk  and  viewed  the 
spectacle  with  great  interest,  alternately  cheering  the 
cow  and  encouraging  Mr.  Forbes,  as  one  side  or  the  other 
would  gain  a  little  advantage.  When  the  cow  would 
make  a  short,  determined  rush,  causing  Mr.  Forbes  to 
scuttle  across  the  street,  in  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  dust 
and  sticks  and  a  rattling  volley  of  "Hi!  hoo-y  !  shoo, 
there!  hoo-y!"  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience  was 
unbounded.  Once,  Mr.  Forbes  got  the  cow  fairly  cor- 
nered and  headed  her  right  into  the  gate,  but  just  as  the 
gray  light  of  victory  fell  upon  his  uplifted  face,  Mrs. 
Forbes  and  the  hired  girl  came  charging  out  in  mad 
pursuit  of  a  flock  of  geese  that  had  taken  advantage  of 
the  open  gate  to  stroll  in  and  have  a  nip  at  the  house 
plants  on  the  back  porch.  Squacking,  whoo])ing  and 
screaming,  the  flying  geese  and  the  pursuing  column 
came  out  like  a  runaway  edition  of  chaos,  and  the  cow 
gave  a  snort  of  terror  and  turned  short  upon  Mr.  Forbes, 
who  tossed  his  hands  more  wildly  and  shouted  more 
vociferously  than  ever,  and  got  out  of  the  way  with  neat- 
ness and  dispatch,  just  as  the  cow  went  by  with  the  swift- 
ness of  a  golden  opportunity  or  a  vagrant  thought.  Mr. 
Forbes'  blood  was  up,  and  he  was  bound  to  head  off"  that 
cow  if  it  was  in  the  power  of  man.  Spurred  to  intense 
energy,  by  the  derisive  shouts  of  the  children,- he  bent 
his  head  and  picked  up  his  flying  feet.  They  got  a  pretty 
fair  send  off",  Mr.  Forbes  and  the  cow,  and  as  they  swept 
up  the  street,  they  could  look  into  each  other's  eyes  and 
glare  defiance  while  they  spurned  the  dust  with  flying 
feet.  Mr.  Forbes  ran  until  his  eyes  seemed  bursting  out 
of  his  head  and  his  very  soul  seemed  to  be  in  his  legs; 
the  perspiration  started  out  of  every  pore ;  every  time  he 
struck  the  ground  with  his  foot  he  thought  he  felt  the 


66  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

earth  shake,  and  yet,  though  he  tugged  and  sweat  and 
strained  until  all  the  landscape  was  yellow  before  his 
blood -shot  eyes,  he  couldn't  gain  a  hair's  breadth  on  the 
shambling,  awkward  cow  that  went  sprawling  and  kick- 
ing along  by  his  side,  filling  the  soft  September  air  with 
such  a  wild,  tumultuous,  horrible  jangling  of  bells  that 
Forbes  made  up  his  mind  to  throw  the  bell  away  the 
moment  he  get  the  cow  home.  The  people  on  the 
streets  stopped  and  waved  their  hats  and  cheered  enthu- 
siastically as  the  procession  swept  past,  ladies  leaned  out 
of  the  windows  and  smiled  sweetly  on  the  man  and  cow 
alike.  Once  Forbes  stumbled  over  a  crossing  and  had 
to  take  strides  twenty -three  feet  long  for  the  next  half 
block  to  keep  from  falling,  and  he  was  sure  he  was  split 
clear  up  to  the  chin  and  would  have  to  button  his  trousers 
around  his  neck  forever  afterward,  but  he  wouldn't  give 
in  to  a  cow  if  he  died  for  it.  At  the  next  corner  the  cow 
turned  off  down  a  side  street;  Forbes  shot  across  the 
sidewalk  for  a  short  cut,  and  the  next  instant  he  went 
crashing  half  way  through  a  latticed  tree  box.  A  street 
car  driver  stopped  his  car  and  assisted  Mr.  Forbes  to  a 
sitting  posture,  leaned  him  up  against  a  fence  and  went 
on  with  his  train.  And  as  Mr,  Forbes  sat  in  a  dazed 
kind  of  way,  mechanically  rubbing  the  dust  and  dirt  off 
his  coat  and  pinning  up  long  gashes  and  grimly  grinning 
apertures  in  his  clothes,  there  came  to  his  ears  the  dis- 
tant tinkle  tankle  of  a  far  away  cow  bell,  the  mellowed 
sound  rising  and  falling  in  tender  cadences,  with  a 
dreamy,  swaying  melody,  as  though  the  bell  was  some- 
where over  in  the  adjoining  county,  and  the  cow  that 
wore  it  was  waltzing  along  over  a  country  road  a  thou- 
sand miles  a  minute. 


Ik 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  67 


VOICES   OF   THE   NIGHT. 


MR.  JOSKINS  is  not  an  old  settler  in  Burlington. 
He  came  to  the  city  of  magnificent  hills  from 
Keokuk,  and  after  looking  around,  selected  a  residence 
out  on  West  Hill,  because  it  was  in  such  a  quiet  locality, 
and  Mr.  Joskins  loves  peace  and  seclusion.  It  is  a  rural 
kind  of  a  neighborhood,  and  all  of  Mr.  Joskins'  neigh- 
bors keep  cows.  And  every  cow  wears  a  bell.  And 
with  an  instinct  worthy  of  the  Peak  family,  each  neigh- 
bor had  selected  a  cow  bell  of  a  different  key  and  tone 
from  any  of  the  others,  in  order  that  he  might  know  the 
cow  of  his  heart  from  the  other  kine  of  the  district.  So 
that  Mr.  Joskins'  nights  are  filled  with  music,  of  a  rather 
wild,  barbaric  type;  and  the  lone  starry  hours  talk  noth- 
ing but  cow  to  him,  and  he  has  learned  so  exactly  the 
tones  of  every  bell  and  the  habits  of  each  corresponding 
cow,  that  the  voices  of  the  night  are  not  an  unintelligi- 
ble jargon  to  him,  but  they  are  full  of  intelligence,  and 
he  understands  them.  It  makes  it  much  easier  for  Mr. 
Joskins,  who  is  a  very  nervous  man,  than  if  he  had  to 
listen  and  conjecture  and  wonder  until  he  was  fairly  wild, 
as  the  rest  of  us  would  have  to  do.  As  it  is,  when  the 
first  sweet  moments  of  his  slumber  are  broken  by  a  sol- 
emn, ponderous,  resonant 

"  Ka-  lum,  ka-lum,  ka-lum!  " 

Mr.  Joskins  knows  that  the  widow  Barbery's  old  crum- 
ple horn  is  going  down  the  street  looking  for  an  open 
front  gate,  and  his  knowledge  is  confirmed  by  a  doleful 
"Ka-lum-pu-lum!  "  that  occurs  at  regular  intervals  as 


68  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

old  crumple  pauses  to  try  each  gate  as  she  passes  it,  for 
she  knows  that  appearances  are  deceitful,  and  that  a  boy 
can  shut  a  front  gate  in  such  a  way  as  to  thoroughly 
deceive  his  father  and  yet  leave  every  catch  unfastened. 
Then  when  Mr.  Joskins  is  called  up  from  his  second  doze 
by  a  lively  serenade  of 

"  To-link,  to-la,nk,  lank,  lankle  -  inkle,  lankle-inkle- 
tekinleinkletelink,  kink,  kink !  " 

He  knows  that  Mr.  Throop's  young  brindle  is  in 
Throstlewaite's  garden  and  that  Throstlewaite  is  sailing 
around  after  her  in  a  pair  of  slippers  and  a  few  clothes. 
And  by  sitting  up  in  bed  Mr.  Joskins  can  hear  the  things 
that  Mr.  Throstlewaite  is  throwing  strike  against  the  side 
of  the  house  and  the  w^oodshed,  thud,  spat,  bang,  and  the 
character  of  the  noises  tells  him  whether  the  missile  was 
a  clod,  a  piece  of  board,  or  a  brick.  And  when  the  wind 
down  the  street  is  fair,  it  brings  with  it  faint  echoes  of 
Mr.  Throstlewaite's  remarks,  which  bring  into  Mr.  Jos- 
kins' bedroom  the  odor  of  bad  grammatical  construction 
and  wicked  wishes  and  very  ill-applied  epithets.  Then 
when  the  final  crash  and  tinkle  announce  that  the  cow 
has  bulged  through  the  front  fence  and  got  away,  and 
Mr.  Joskins  turns  over  to  try  and  get  a  little  sleep,  he 
is  not  surprised,  although  he  is  annoyed,  to  be  aroused 
by  a  sepulchral 

"Klank,  klank,  klank!  " 

Like  the  chains  on  the  old-fashioned  ghost  of  a  mur- 
dered man,  for  he  knows  it  is  Throstlewaite's  old  duck- 
legged  brown  cow,  going  down  to  the  vacant  lot  on  the 
corner  to  fight  anything  that  gives  milk.  And  he  waits 
and  listens  to  the  "  klank,  klank,  klank,"  until  it  reaches 
the  corner  and  a  terrific  din  and  medley  of  all  the  cow 
bells  on  the  street  tell  him  all  the  skirmishers  have  been 
driven  in  and  the  action  has  become  general.     And  from 


AND    OTHER    HAWK.  -  EVETEMS.  69 

that  on  till  morning,  Mr.  Joskyns  hears  the  "  tinkle -tan- 
kle  "  of  the  little  red  cow  going  down  the  alley  to  pros- 
pect among  the  garbage  heaps,  and  the  "  rankle  -  tankle, 
rankle  -  tankle  "  of  the  short  -  tailed  black  and  white  cow 
skirmishing  down  the  street  ahead  of  an  escort  of  badly 
assorted  dogs,  and  the  "  tringle-de-ding,  tringle- de- 
ding,  ding,  ding,"  of  the  muley  cow  that  goes  along  on 
the  sidewalk,  browsing  on  the  lower  limbs  of  the  shade 
trees,  and  the  "  klank,  klank,  klank,"  of  the  fighting  cow, 
whose  bell  is  cracked  in  three  places,  and  incessant 
*'  moo-o  -oo-ah-  ha"  of  the  big  black  cow  that  has  lost 
^he  clapper  out  of  her  bell  and  has  ever  since  kept  up  an 
unintermittent  bellowing  to  supply  its  loss.  And  Mr. 
Joskins  knows  all  these  cows  by  their  bells,  and  he  knows 
what  they  are  doing  and  where  they  are  going.  And 
although  it  has  murdered  his  dreams  of  a  quiet  home, 
yet  it  has  given  him  an  opportunity  to  cultivate  habits  of 
intelligent  observation,  and  it  has  induced  him  to  register 
a  vow  that  if  he  is  ever  rich  enough  he  will  keep  nine 
cows,  trained  to  sleep  all  day  so  as  to  be  ready  for  duty 
at  night,  and  he  will  live  in  the  heart  of  the  city  with 
them  and  make  them  wear  four  bells  apiece  just  for  the 
pleasure  of  his  neighbors. 


70  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


THE  DEMAND  FOR  LIGHT  LABOR. 


ONE  morning,  just  as  the  rush  of  house  cleaning 
days  was  beginning  to  abate,  a  robust  tramp 
called  at  a  house  on  Barnes  Street,  and  besought  the 
inmates  to  give  him  something  to  eat,  averring  that  he 
had  not  tasted  food  for  nine  days. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  work.'"'  asked  the  lady  to  whom 
he  preferred  his  petition.  -s 

"Work!  "  he  ejaculated.  "Work!  And  what  have  I 
been  doing  ever  since  the  middle  of  May  but  hunting 
work  }  Who  will  give  me  work }  When  did  I  ever  refuse 
work?" 

"Well,"  said  the  woman,  "  I  guess  I  can  give  you  some 
employment.     What  can  you  do  .-* " 

"Anything!"  he  shouted,  in  a  kind  of  delirious  joy. 
"Anything  that  any  man  can  do.  I'm  sick  for  something 
to  fly  at.  Why,  only  yesterday  I  worked  all  day,  carry- 
ing water  in  an  old  sieve  from  Flint  River  and  emptying 
it  into  the  Mississippi,  just  because  I  was  so  tired  of 
having  ndthing  to  do,  that  I  had  to  work  at  something  or 
I  would  have  gone  ravin'  crazy.  I'll  do  anything,  from 
cleaning  house  to  building  a  steamboat.  Jest  give  me 
work,  ma'am,  an'  you'll  never  hear  me  ask  for  bread 
agin." 

The  lady  was  pleased  at  the  willingness  and  anxiety 
of  this  industrious  man  to  do  something,  and  she  led 
him  to  the  wood  pile.  * 

"Here,"  she  said,  "you  can  saw  and  split  this  wood, 
and  if  you  are  a  good,  industrious  worker,  I  will  find 
work  for  you  to  do,  nearly  all  Winter." 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  7I 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  tramp,  while  a  look  of  disap- 
pointment stole  over  his  face,  "that's  just  my  luck. 
Only  three  days  ago  1  was  puUin'  a  blind  cow  out  of  a 
well  for  a  poor  widow  woman  who  had  nothin'  in  the 
world  but  that  cow  to  support  her,  an'  I  spraint  my  right 
wrist  till  I  hain't  been  able  to  lift  a  pound  with  it  sinst. 
You  kin  jest  put  your  hand  on  it  now  and  feel  it  throb, 
it's  so  painful  and  inflamed.  I  could  jest  cry  of  disap- 
pointment, but  it's  a  Bible  fact,  ma'am,  that  I  couldn't 
lift  that  ax  above  my  head  ef  I  died  fur  it,  and  I'd  jest 
as  lief  let  you  pull  my  arm  out  by  the  roots  as  to  try  to 
pull  that  saw  through  a  lath.  Jest  set  me  at  something 
I  kin  do,  though,  if  you  want  to  see  the  dust  fly." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  lady,  "  then  you  can  take  these 
flower  beds,  which  have  been  very  much  neglected,  and 
weed  them  very  carefully  for  me.  You  can  do  that  with 
your  well  hand,  but  I  want  you  to  be  very  particular 
with  them,  and  get  them  ver}'  clean,  and  not  injure  any 
of  the  plants,  for  they  are  all  very  choice  and  I  am  very 
proud  of  them." 

The  look  of  disappointment  »that  had  been  chased 
away  from  the  industrious  man's  face  when  he  saw  a 
prospect  of  something  else  to  do,  came  back  deeper  than 
ever  as  the  lady  described  the  new  job,  and  when  she 
concluded,  he  had  to  remain  quiet  for  a  moment  before 
he  could  control  his  emotion  sufficiently  to  speak. 

"  If  I  ain't  the  most  onfortnit  man  in  Ameriky,"  he 
sighed.  "  I'm  jest  dyin'  for  work,  crazy  to  get  somethin* 
to  do,  and  I'm  blocked  out  of  work  at  every  turn.  I  jest 
love  to  work  among  flowers  and  dig  in  the  ground,  but  I 
never  dassent  do  it  fur  I'm  jest  blue  ruin  among  the 
posies.  Nobody  ever  cared  to  teach  me  anythin'  about 
flowers  and  its  a  Gospel  truth,  ma'am,  I  can't  tell  a 
violet  from  a  sunflower  nor  a  red  rose  from  a  dog  fennel. 


72  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Last  place  I  tried  to  git  work  at,  woman  of  the  house  set 
me  to  work  weedin'the  garden,  an'  I  worked  about  a  couple 
of  hours,  monstrous  glad  to  get  work,  now  you  bet,  an'  I 
pulled  up  every  last  livin'  green  thing  in  that  yard. 
Hope  I  may  die  ef  I  didn't.  Pulled  up  all  the  grass, 
every  blade  of  it.  Fact.  Pulled  up  a  vine  wuth  seventy- 
five  dollars,  that  had  roots  reachin'  cl'ar  under  the  cellar 
and  into  the  cistern,  and  I  yanked  'em  right  up,  every 
fiber  of  'em.  Woman  was  so  heart  broke  when  she  come 
out  and  see  the  yard  just  as  bare  as  the  floor  of  a  brick 
yard  that  they  had  to  put  her  to  bed.  Bible's  truth,  they 
did,  ma'am ;  and  I  had  to  work  for  that  house  three 
months  for  nothin'  and  find  my  board,  to  pay  fur  the 
damage  I  done.  Hope  to  die  ef  I  didn't.  Jest  gimme 
suthin'  I  kin  do,  I'll  show  you  what  work  is,  but  I 
wouldn't  dare  to  go  foolin'  around  no  flowers.  You've 
got  a  kind  heart  ma'am,  gimme  some  work;  don't  send  a 
despairin'  man  away  hungry  for  work." 

"  Well,"  the  lady  said,  "  you  can  beat  my  carpets  for 
me.  They  have  just  been  taken  up,  and  you  can  beat 
them  thoroughly,  and  by  the  time  they  are  done,  I  will 
have  something  else  ready  for  you." 

The  man  made  a  gesture  of  despair  and  sat  down  on 
the  ground,  the  picture  of  abject  helplessness  and  disap- 
pointed aspirations. 

"  Look  at  me  now,"  he  exclaimed.  ''  What  is  goin'  to 
become  o'  me.''  Did  you  ever  see  a  man  so  down  on  his 
luck  like  me.^  I  tell  you  ma'am,  you  must  give  me 
somethin'  I  can  do.  I  wouldn't  no  more  dare  for  to  tech 
them  carpets  than  nothin'  in  the  world.  I'd  tear  'em  to 
pieces.  I'm  a  awful  hard  hitter,  an'  the  last  time  I  beat 
any  carpets  was  for  a  woman  out  at  Creston,  and  I  just 
welted  them  carpets  into  strings  and  carpet  rags.  I 
couldn't  help  it.     I  can't  hold  in  my  strength.     I'm  too 


A'ND    OTHER    HAWK.  -  EYETEMS.  -j 

glad  to  get  to  work,  that's  the  trouble  with  me,  ma'am, 
it's  a  Bible  fact.  I'll  beat  them  carpets  if  you  say  so,  but 
1  won't  be  responsible  fur  'em  ;  no  makin  me  work  for 
nothin'  fur  five  or  six  weeks  to  pay  fur  tearin  'em  into 
slits  yer  know.  I'll  go  at  'em  if  you'll  say  the  word  and 
take  the  responsibility,  but  the  fact  is,  I'm  too  hard  a 
worker  to  go  foolin'  around  carpets,  that's  just  what  I 
am." 

The  lady  excused  the  energetic  worker  from  going  at 
the  carpets,  but  was  puzzled  what  to  set  him  at.  Finally 
she  asked  him  what  there  was  he  would  like  to  do  and 
could  do,  with  safety  to  himself  and  the  work. 

"Well,  now,"  he  said,  "  that's  considerit  in  ye.  That's 
real  considerit,  and  I'll  take  a  hold  and  do  something 
that'll  give  ye  the  wuth  of  your  money,  and  won't  give 
me  no  chance  to  destroy  nothin'  by  workin'  too  hard  at 
it.  If  ye'll  jest  kindly  fetch  me  out  a  rockin'  chair,  I'll 
set  down  in  the  shade  and  keep  the  covvs  from  liftin'  the 
latch  of  the  front  gate  and  gettin'  into  the  yard.  An' 
I'll  do  it  well  and  only  charge  you  reasonable  for  it,  fur 
the  fact  is  I'm  so  dead  crazy  fur  work  that  it  isn't  big 
pay  I  want  so  much  as  a  steady  job." 

And  when  he  was  rejected  and  sent  forth,  jobless  and 
breakfastless,  to  wander  up  and  down  the  cold,  unfeeling 
world  in  search  of  work,  he  cast  stones  at  the  house  and 
said,  in  dejected  tones, 

"There,  now,  that's  just  the  way.  They  call  us  a  bad 
lot,  and  say  we're  lazy  and  thieves,  and  won't  work,  when 
a  feller  is  just  crazy  to  work  and  nobody  won't  give  him 
nary  job  that  he  kin  do.  Won't  work  !  Land  alive,  they 
won't  give  us  work,  an*  when  we  want  to  an'  try  to,  they 
won't  let  us  work.  There  ain't  a  man  in  Ameriky  that 
'ud  work  as  hard  an*  as  stiddy  as  I  would  if  they'd 
gimme  a  chance." 


74  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MASTER  BILDERBACK  RETURNS  TO  SCHOOL. 


WE  remember  one  day  last  Summer,  during  the  long 
vacation,  when  the  Hawkeye  published  a  news 
item  stating  that  a  boy  named  Bilderback  had  fallen  from 
the  seat  of  a  reaping  machine,  and  got  cut  to  pieces,  a 
patient,  weary  looking,  and  rather  handsome  young  lady 
called  at  the  office,  and  appeared  to  be  very  anxious  to 
have  that  item  verified.  And  when  we  gave  her  all  pos- 
sible assurance  that  everything  appearing  in  that  great 
and  good  paper,  the  Hawkeye^  was  necessarily  true,  she 
drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  said  she  felt  actually 
thankful  she  wouldn't  have  that  boy  to  demoralize  the 
school  the  next  term.  And  then  she  smiled  sweetly,  and 
thanked  us  for  our  assuring  words,  and  went  away. 

Imagine  her  dismay,  then,  about  the  third  or  fourth 
day  of  the  fall  term,  when  a  terrific  cheering  in  the  yard, 
about  ten  minutes  before  school  time,  drew  her  to  the 
window,  whence  looking  down,  she  saw  every  last  solitary 
lingering  boy  in  that  school  district  dancing  and  yelling 
about  Master  Bilderback,  who  was  dancing  higher  and 
yelling  louder  than  any  other  boy  in  the  caucus.  Her 
heart  sank  within  her;  but  she  braced  up  and  went  down 
stairs  to  quiet  the  bedlam,  and  in  five  minutes  learned 
the  dreadful  truth.  Master  Bilderback  had  met  with  a 
reaping-machine  accident,  but  the  papers  had  reported  it 
incorrectly.  He  had  climbed  into  the  seat  the  moment 
his  uncle,  on  whose  farm  he  was  spending  the  vacation, 
got  down.  He  prod  led  one  of  the  horses  with  a  pin  in 
the  end  of  a  stick,  and  made  the  team  run  away.     The 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  75 

terrified  animals  ran  the  machine  over  twenty  stumps, 
and  mashed  it  to  pieces;  one  of  the  horses  ran  against  a 
hedge-stake  and  was  killed,  and  the  other  jumped  off  a 
bridge  and  broke  a  leg;  Master  Bilderback's  uncle, 
chasing  after  the  flying  team,  had  dashed  through  a 
hornets'  nest,  and  the  sociable  little  insects  came  out  and 
sat  down  on  him  to  talk  it  over,  until  his  head  was 
swelled  as  big  as  a  nail-keg,  and  he  couldn't  open  his 
eyes  for  a  week;  a  farm-hand  who  tried  to  stop  the  horses 
by  rushing  out  in  front  of  them,  was  hit  by  the  tongue 
of  the  reaper  and  knocked  into  the  middle  of  an  Osage 
orange  hedge,  where  he  stuck  for  three  hours,  and  lost 
his  voice  by  scr<eaming,  and  was  scraped  to  the  bone 
when  they  finally  pulled  him  out  with  grappling  hooks. 
And  Master  Bilderback,  the  author  of  all  this  calamity, 
was  thrown  from  his  seat  at  the  first  stump,  and  fell  on  a 
shock  of  grain,  and  wasn't  jarred  or  bruised  or  scratched 
a  particle.  And  that  night,  when  his  aunt  handed  his 
blinded  uncle  the  halter-strap,  and  held  Master  Bilder- 
back  in  front  of  him  to  receive  merited  castigation,  that 
graceless  young  wretch  seized  his  aunt  around  the  neck 
after  the  first  blow,  and  wheeling  her  into  his  place,  held 
her  there,  drowning  her  piercing  explanations  and  plead- 
ings in  his  own  tumultuous  but  deceitful  bowlings  and 
roarings,  until  her  back  looked  like  a  war  map,  and  the 
exhausted  uncle  laid  down  the  strap  with  the  remark 
that  he  "guessed  that  would  teach  him  something."  And 
so  the  teacher,  when  she  saw  master  Bilderback  at  school 
again,  felt  weary  of  life,  and  sighed  to  rest  her  deep  in 
the  silent  grave — if  she  could  find  one  that  was  for  rent, 
and  didn't  cost  more  than  a  quarter's  salary. 

It  being  the  young  man's  first  day  at  school  that  term, 
he  was  feeling  pretty  well,  thank  you.  He  had  a  fight 
and  a  half  before  the  bell  rang;    the  half  fight  being  an 


76  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

unsuccessful  attempt  on  his  part  to  pull  enough  hair  out 
of  the  back  of  another  boy's  head  to  stuff  a  mattress, 
and  a  highly  successful  effort  on  the  part  of  the  other 
boy  to  claw  enough  hide  off  Master  Bilderback's  nose  to 
make  a  pair  of  boots  of,  at  which  discouraging  stage  of 
the  war  Master  B.  drew  off  his  forces,  and  in  a  concilia- 
tory spirit  informed  the  audience  that  he  was  only  in  fun. 
Then,  before  the  opening  exeicises  were  half  through, 
three  boys  in  his  neighborhood  rose  up  in  their  seats  and 
with  bitter  wails  began  feeling  about  in  their  persons  for 
intrusive  pins.  When  the  first  class  filed  out  to  its  p'ace, 
the  circling  grin  told  the  anxious  teacher  that  Master 
Bilderbacc  had  inked  the  end  of  his  nose.  Then  he 
induced  the  boy  next  to  him  to  lean  his  head  back  against 
the  wall,  just  as  master  B.  did;  and  when  that  complai- 
sant boy  was  suddenly  called  on  to  rise  and  recite,  he 
lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept,  for  he  had  pulled  a  piece 
of  shoemaker's  wax  and  about  two  ounces  of  blackboard 
slating  and  plaster  out  of  the  wall  with  his  back  hair. 
Then  he  spread  out  the  tail  of  another  boy's  coat  on  the 
seat,  and  piled  a  little  pyramid  of  buckshot  on  it;  and 
when  the  boy  stood  up  to  recite,  he  was  waltzed  out  on 
the  floor — bathed  in  innocent  tears,  and  protesting  his 
innocence — for  throwing  shot  on  the  floor,  and  was  told 
he  was  growing  worse  than  that  Bi'derback  boy.  He 
tied  the  ends  of  a  girl's  sash  around  the  back  of  her  chair, 
and  when  she  tried  to  stand  up  she  was  almost  jerked 
out  of  existence.  He  was  sent  out  with  a  boy  who  was 
taken  with  the  nose-bleed,  and  found  occasion  to  mix  ink 
in  the  water  he  poured  on  the  sufferer's  hands;  so  that, 
on  his  return,  the  sufferer's  appearance  created  such 
howls  of  derision  that  it  started  the  nose-bleed  afresh, 
and  threw  the  teacher  into  hysterics.  He  enticed  a 
gaunt  hound  into  the  girls'  side  of  the  yard,  and  clapping 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  77 

a  patent  clothes-pin  on  one  of  its  pendant  ears,  raised 
the  alarm  of  "mad  dog!"  and  laughed  till  he  choked  to 
see  the  howling  animal  rushing  aroand  trying  to  paw  the 
clothes-pin  off;  while  the  shrieking  girls  wrecked  them- 
selves in  desperate  and  frequently  successful  attempts  to 
climb  over  an  eight  foot  fence.  He  put  a  pinching-bug 
as  big  as  a  postage-stamp -down  a  boy's  back.  He  got  a 
long  slate-pencil  crossways  in  his  mouth,  and  it  nearly 
poked  through  his  cheeks  before  they  could  break  it  and 
get  it  out.  He  tossed  a  big  apple,  hard  as  a  rock,  out  of 
the  third  story  window  at  random,  and  it  struck  an  old 
lady  in  the  eye  as  she  was  walking  along  admiring  the 
building;  and  she  came  up  and  gave  the  poor  tortured 
teacher  a  piece  of  her  mind  as  long  as  the  dog  days.  He 
dropped  into  the  water-bucket  a  lot  of  oxalic  acid,  that 
had  been  brought  to  take  some  ink  splotches  out  of  the 
floor,  and  came  within  one  of  poisoning  the  whole  school 
before  they  found  it  out;  and,  finally,  he  poked  a  bean 
so  far  up  his  nose  that  they  thought  it  was  coming  out  of 
his  eye ;  and  the  happy  teacher  dismissed  him,  thoroughly 
frightened  for  the  first  time  in  his  eventful  life,  and  he 
ran  like  a  race-horse  all  the  way  home,  crying  louder  at 
every  step,  and  never  stopped  to  call  a  name  or  throw  a 
stone. 


yS  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


OD.E  TO  AUTUMN. 


AFTER      TENNYSON. 

THE  grasshopper  creaks  in  the  leafy  gloom, 
And  the  bumble-bee  bumbleth  the  live  long  day ; 
But  the  mathering  nurks  in  the  bran  new  broom. 
And  hushed  is  the  sound  of  the  buzz  saw's  play. 

Oh,  it's  little  he  thinks  of  the  cold  mince  pie, 
And  it's  little  he  seeks  of  the  raw  ice  cream ; 

For  the  dying  old  year  with  its  tremulous  sigh, 
Shall  waken  the  lingering  loon  from  his  dream. 

Oh,  list !     For  the  cricket,  now  far,  now  near, 

Full  shrillfuUy  singeth  his  roundelay  ; 
While  the  negligent  noodle  his  noisy  cheer 

Screeps  where  the  doodle  bug  eats  the  hay. 

Oh,  the  buzz  saw  so  buzzily  buzzeth  the  stick 

And  bumbling  the  bumble-bee  bumbleth  his  tune 

While  the  cricket  cricks  crickingly  down  at  the  creek 
And  the  noodle  noods  noodingly,  "  Ha!  It  is  noon!  " 

The  dog  fennel  sighs,  "  She  is  here!  she  is  here!  " 

And  the  smart  weed  says  dreamily,  "  Give  us  a  rest !  ** 

The  hop  vine  breathes  tenderly,  "  Give  us  a  beer!  " 

While  the  jimson  weed  hollers,  "  Oh,  pull  down  your 
vest ! " 

Oh,  Anna  Maria,  why  don't  you  come  home? 

For  the  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  seven  or  eight ; 
Way  down  in  the  murky  mazourka  the  gloam 

Is  gloaming  its  gloaraingest  gloam  on  the  gate. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  79 


THE  SORROWS  OF  THE  POOR. 


IT  was  a  poor,  dejected  looking  tramp,  who  came  limp- 
ing wearily  into  town  on  the  Fort  Madison  road, 
and,  with  the  instinct  of  his  class,  made  his  way  directly 
toward  Main  Street,  where  stimulants  and  company  are 
most  numerous.  He  had  a  very  tired  look,  and  his 
poorly  shod  feet  seemed  to  weigh  a  ton  a  piece.  The 
sun  had  burned  his  face  to  a  deeper  brown  than  even  the 
knotty  hands  that  swung  listlessly  at  his  side.  He  did 
not  even  carry  the  inevitable  stick;  and  the  little  bundle, 
without  which  the  tramp's  outfit  is  never  complete, 
although  heaven  only  knows  what  is  in  it,  was  swung 
from  his  shoulders  by  a  heavy  twine  string,  like  a  rude 
knapsack.  No  man  is  alive  now  that  wore  clothes  when 
the  hat  he  wore  was  made.  It  was  a  fearful  and  won- 
derful hat,  and  attracted  more  attention  than  anything 
he  had  on  or  about  him.  He  limped  along  Main  Street 
from  Locust,  diving  into  private  houses  in  occasional 
forays  for  bread,  which  were  generally  successful,  for  his 
poor,  dejected,  sorrowful  looking  face  threw  a  great  deal 
of  silent  eloquence  into  his  pleading,  and  the  women 
could  not  bear  to  send  the  low- voiced  man  away  hungry. 
These  forays  were  varied  by  occasional  dives  into  places 
of  refreshment,  where  he  vainly  pleaded  for  a  small  allow- 
ance of  ardent  spirits  for  a  sick  man  ;  the  general  result  . 
being  that  he  was  courteously  refused  and  gently  but 
firmly  kicked  out  by  the  urbane  barkeeper,  who  saw  too 
many  of  him  every  day  to  be  much  moved.  The  poor 
fellow  limped  along  till  he  got  a  little  above  Division 
6 


8o  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Street,  when  he  had  to  pass  a  knot  of  young  men,  and 
one  of  them,  a  smart  looking  young  chap,  in  a  very 
gamey  costume,  and  carrying  a  broad  pair  of  shoulders 
and  a  bullet  head,  surmounted  with  a  silver-gray  plug 
hat,  hung  on  his  right  ear,  sang  out, 
"Oh,  shoot  the  hat!  " 

The  poor  tramp  only  looked  more  dejected  than  ever, 

if  possible,  and  shook  his  head  meekly  and  sorrowfully, 

and  limped  on.     But  the  young  sport  shouted  after  him: 

"  Come  back,  young  fellow,  and  see  how  you'll  trade 

hats!  " 

The  outcast  paused  and  half  turned,  and  said  in 
mournful  tones: 

"Don't  make  game  of  a  onfortnit  man,  young  gents. 
I'm  poor  and  I'm  sick,  but  I've  the  feelin's  of  a  man,  an' 
I  kin  feel  it  when  I'm  made  game  of.  If  you  could  give 
me  a  job  of  work,  now — " 

A  chorus  of  laughter  greeted  the  suggestion,  and  the 
smartest  young  man  repeated  his  challenge  to  trade  hats, 
and  finally  induced  the  mendicant  to  limp  back. 

"  Take  off  your  hat,"  said  the  young  man  of  Burling- 
ton, "and  let's  see  whose  make  it  is.  If  it  isn't  Stetson's, 
I  won't  trade." 

"Oh,  that's  Stetson's,"  chorused  the  crowd.  "He 
wouldn't  wear  anything  but  a  first-class  hat." 

But  the  tramp  replied,  trying  to  limp  away  from  the 
circle  that  was  closing  around  him. 

"  Indeed,  young  gents,  don't  be  hard  on  a  onfortnit 
man.  I  don't  believe  I  could  git  that  hat  off'n  my  head ; 
I  don't  indeed.  I  haint  had  it  off  fur  mor'n  two  months, 
indeed  I  haint.  I  don't  believe  I  kin  git  it  off  at  all. 
Please  let  me  go  on." 

But  the  unfeeling  young  men  crowded  around  him 
more  closely  and  insisted  that  the  hat  should  come  off, 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  8 1 

and  the  smartest  young  man  in  company  said  he'd  pull 
it  off  for  him. 

"Indeed,  young  gent,"  replied  the  tramp,  apologet- 
ically, "I  don't  believe  you  could  git  it  off.  It's  been  on 
so  long  I  don't  believe  you  kin  git  it  off ;  I  don't  really." 

The  young  man  advanced  and  made  a  motion  to  jerk 
off  the  hat,  but  the  tramp  limped  back  and  threw  up  his 
hands  with  a  clumsy  frightened  gesture. 

"Come  young  gents,"  he  whined,  "don't  playgames 
on  a  poor  fellow  as  is  lookin'  for  the  county  hospital.  I 
tell  ye,  young  gents,  I'm  a  sick  man,  I  am.  I'm  on  the 
tramp  when  I  ought  to  be  in  bed.  I  can't  hardly  stand, 
and  I  haint  got  the  strength  to  be  fooled  with.  Be  easy 
on  a  poor " 

But  the  sporting  young  man  cut  him  off  with  "  Oh,  give 
us  a  rest  and  take  off  that  hat."  And  then  he  made  a 
pass  at  the  poor  sick  man's  hat,  but  his  hand  met  the 
l)oor,  sick  tramp's  elbow  instead.  And  then  the  poor 
man  lifted  one  of  his  hands  about  as  high  as  a  derrick, 
and  the  next  instant  the  silver-gray  plug  hat  was 
crowded  so  far  down  on  the  young  man's  shoulders  that 
the  points  of  the  dog's  eared  collar  were  sticking  up 
through  the  crown  of  it.  And  then  the  poor  sick  man 
tried  his  other  hand,  and  part  of  the  crowd  started  off 
to  help  pick  the  young  man  out  of  a  show  window  where 
he  was  standing  on  his  head,  while  the  rest  of  the  con- 
gregation was  trying  its  level  best  to  get  out  of  the  way 
of  the  poor  sick  tramp,  who  was  feeling  about  him  in  a 
vague,  restless  sort  of  way  that  made  the  street  lamps 
rattle  every  time  he  found  anvbody.  Long  before  any 
one  could  interfere  the  convention  had  adjourned  sine  die, 
and  the  poor  tramp,  limping  on  his  way,  the  very  per- 
sonification of  wretchedness,  sighed  as  he  remarked 
apologetically  to  the  spectators  : 


82  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THF    MUSTACHE, 

"  I  tell  you,  gents,  I'm  a  sick  man;  T'm  too  sick  to  feel 
like  foolin';  I'm  jest  so  sick  that  when  I  go  gropin' 
around  for  somethin'  to  lean  up  agin  I  can't  tell  a  man 
from  a  hitchin'  post;  I  can't  actually,  and  when  I  rub 
agin  anybody,  nobody  hadn't  ought  to  feel  hard  at  me. 
I'm  sick,  that's  wha    I  am." 


MR.  GEROLMAN  LOSES  HIS  DOG. 


MR.  GEROLMAN  stood  on  the  front  p  rch  of  his 
comfortable  home  on  West  Hill,  one  morning 
looking  out  at  the  drizzling  rain  in  any  thing  but  a  com- 
fortable frame  of  mind.  He  looked  up  and  down  the 
yard,  and  then  he  raised  his  umbrella  and  went  to  the 
gate  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street.  Then  he 
whistled  in  a  very  shrill  manner  three  or  four  times,  and 
listened  as  though  he  was  expecting  a  response.  If  he 
was,  he  was  disappointed,  for  there  was  no  response  save 
the  pattering  of  the  rain  on  his  umbrella,  and  he  frowned 
heavily  as  he  returned  to  the  porch,  from  which  sheltered 
post  of  observation  he  gloomily  surveyed  the  dispiriting 
weather. 

"  Dag  gone  the  dag  gone  brute,"  he  muttered  savagely, 
"  if  ever  I  keep  another  dog  again,  I  hope  it  will  eat  me 

up." 

And  then  he  whistled  again.  And  again  there  was  no 
response.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Gerolman  had  lost 
his  dog,  a  beautiful  ashes  of  roses  hound  with  seal  brown 
spots  and  soft  satin -finish  ears.  He  was  a  valuable  dog, 
and  this  was  the  third  time  he  had  been  lost,  and  Mr. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  8;^ 

Gerolman  was  rapidly  losing  his  temper  as  completely  as 
he  had  lost  his  dog.     He  lifted  his  voice  and  called  aloud: 

"  H'yuh  -  h  -  h  Ponto!  h'yuh  Poiito!  h'yuhp  onto! 
h*yup  onto,  h'yup  onto  h'yuponto,  h'yuix)nto !  h'yup, 
h'yup,  h'yup !  " 

As  he  ceased  calling,  and  looked  anxiously  about  for 
some  indications  of  a  dog,  the  front  door  opened  and  a 
woman's  face,  shaded  with  a  tinge  of  womanly  anxiety 
and  fastened  to  Mrs.  Gerolman 's  head,  looked  out. 

"  The  children  call  him  Hector,"  a  low  sweet  voice 
said  for  the  wistful,  pretty  face ;  but  the  bereaved  master 
of  the  absent  dog  was  in  no  humor  to  be  charmed  by  a 
beautiful  face  and  a  flute-  like  voice. 

"By  George,"  he  said,  striding  out  into  the  rain  and 
purposely  leaving  his  umbrella  on  the  porch  to  make 
his  wife  feel  bad,  "  it's  no  wonder  the  dog  gets  lost,  when 
he  has  so  dod  binged  many  names  that  he  don't  know 
himself.  By  Jacks,  when  I  give  eleven  dollars  for  a  dog, 
I  want  the  privilege  of  naming  him,  and  the  next  person 
about  this  house  that  tries  to  fasten  an  old  pagan,  Indian, 
blasphemous  name  on  a  dog  of  mine,  will  hear  from  me 
about  it;  now  that's  all." 

And  then  he  inflated  his  lungs  and  yelled  like  a  scalp 
hunter. 

"  Here,  Hector!  here,  Hector!  here  rector,  hyur,  rector, 
hyur  rec,  h'yurrec,  k'yurrec,  k'yurrec,  k'yurrec!  God- 
frey's cordial,  where 's  that  dog  gone  to.'*  H'yuponto, 
h'yupont !  h'yuh,  h'yuh,  h'yuh!  I  hope  he's  poisoned — 
h'yurrector !  By  George,  I  do ;  h'yuh  Ponto,  good  dog, 
Ponty,  Ponty,  Ponty,  h'yuh  Pont !  I'd  give  fifty  dollars 
if  some  one  had  strychnined  the  nasty,  worthless,  lop- 
eared  cur  ;  hyurrec,  k'yurrec  !  By  granny,  I'll  kill  him 
when  he  comes  home,  if  I  don't  I  hope  to  die  ;  h'yuh 
Ponto,  h'yuh  Ponto,  /lyu/i  Hec  ! ! 


84  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

And  as  he  turned  back  to  the  porch  the  door  again 
opened  and  the  tremulous  voice  sweetly  asked  : 

"  Can't  you  find  him  ?  " 

"Naw!!!"  roared  the  exasperated  dog  -  hunter,  and 
the  door  closed  very  precipitately  and  was  opened  no 
more  during  the  session. 

"Here,  Ponto!"  roared  Mr.  Gerolman,  from  his 
position  on  the  porch,  "  Here,  Hector ! "  And  then  he 
whistled  until  his  head  swam  and  his  throat  was  so  dry 
you  could  light  a  match  in  it.  *'  Here,  Ponto !  Blast  the 
dog.  I  suppose  he's  twenty- five  miles  from  here.  Hec- 
tor! What  are  you  lookin'  at,  you  gimlet  -  eyed  old 
Bedlamite.'*"  he  savagely  growled,  apostrophizing  a 
sweet  -  faced  old  lady  with  silky  white  hair,  who  had  just 
looked  out  of  her  window  to  see  where  the  fire  was,  or 
who  was  being  murdered.  "  Here,  Ponto !  here  Ponto  ! 
Good  doggie,  nice  old  Pontic,  nice  old  Heckie  dog  — 
Oh  -h-h,"  he  snarled,  dancing  up  and  down  on  the  porch 
in  an  ecstasy  of  rage  and  impatience,  "  I'd  like  to  tramp 
the  ribs  out  of  the  long-legged  worthless  old  garbage - 
eater  ;  here^  Ponto^  here  !  " 

To  his  amazement  he  heard  a  canine  yawn,  a  long- 
drawn,  weary  kind  of  a  whine,  as  of  a  dog  who  was 
bored  to  death  with  the  dismal  weather;  then  there  was 
a  scraping  sound,  and  the  dog,  creeping  out  from  under 
the  porch,  from  under  his  very  feet,  looked  vacantly 
around  as  though  he  wasn't  quite  sure  but  what  he  had 
heard  some  one  calling  him,  and  then  catching  sight  of 
his  master,  sat  down  and  thumped  on  the  ground  with 
his  tail,  smiled  pleasantly,  and  asked  as  plainly  as  ever 
dog  asked  in  the  world, 

"  Were  you  wanting  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Gerolman,  for  one  brief  instant,  gasped  for  breath. 
Then  he  pulled  his  hat  down  tight  on  his  head,  snatched 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  85 

up  his  umbrella  with  a  convulsive  grasp  and  yelled 
"  Come  'ere !  "  in  such  a  terrific  roar  that  the  white  -  haired 
old  lady  across  the  way  fell  back  in  a  fit,  ai^.  the  dog, 
surmising  that  all  was  not  well,  briefly  remarked  that  he 
had  an  engagement  to  meet  somebody  about  fifty  -  eight 
feet  under  the  house,  and  shot  under  the  porch  like  a 
shooting  dog  -  star.  Mr.  Gerolman  made  a  dash  to  inter- 
cept him,  but  stumbled  over  a  flower  stand  and  plunged 
through  a  honey  -  suckle  trellis,  off"  the  porch,  and  down 
into  a  raging  volcano  of  moss-rose  bush,  straw,  black 
dirt,  shattered  umbrella  ribs,  and  a  ubiquitous  hat,  while 
far  under  the  house,  deep  in  the  cavernous  darkness, 
came  the  mocking  laugh  of  an  ashes  of  roses  dog  with 
seal  brown  spots,  accompanied  by  the  taunting  remark, 
as  nearly  as  Mr.  Gerolman  could  understand  the  dog, 
"  Who  hit  him?     Which  way  did  he  go?  " 


86  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


A  RAINY  DAY  IDYL. 


HOW  many  times  do  I  love  you,  dear ? 
That  is  beyond  my  number's  skill ; 
Dearer  your  smiles  than  aught  else  here, 
Unless  it  might  be  my  amberill. 

Sweet  is  the  glance  of  your  soft  brown  eyes. 

Veiled  when  the  silken  fringes  fall ; 
Verse  can  not  tell  how  much  I  prize 

Thee,  and  my  constant  umbersoll. 

As  the  shadowy  years  speed  on  and  by 

Over  our  lives  like  a  magic  spell ; 
Ever  to  thee  I'll  fondly  fly, 

And  shelter  you  under  my  amberell. 

Time's  wings  are  swifter  than  thought,  my  d.ar. 
When  my  heart  is  cheered  by  your  sunny  smile ; 

Never  an  hour  is  sad  or  drear. 

When  I  know  where  to  look  for  my  old  umbrile. 

Even  when  life  its  sands  have  run 

And  my  leaf  has  fallen  sere  and  yellow. 

Little  I'll  heed  either  storm  or  sun 

Safe  'neath  the  roof  of  my  dear  umbrellow. 

Ha!     But  the  world  is  wrapped  in  gloom  — 
Storm,  rain  and  tempest  round  me  roll ; 

Show  me  the  man !  Oh,  give  me  room ! 
Some  wretch  has  stolen  my  umbersole. 


AND    OIHFR    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  8/ 


SINGULAR    TRANSFORMATION. 


IT  appears  that  during  vacation  Master  Bilderback, 
having  fallen  behind  in  his  studies  last  term,  was 
compelled  by  his  ma  to  read  his  school  books  certain  hours 
of  the  day,  until  he  escaped  that  tyranny  by  going  out  to 
his  uncle  Keyser's  farm.  In  order  to  make  his  study  as 
light  as  possible,  this  ingenious  boy  had  dissected,  or 
rather  skinned  his  books,  and  neatly  inserted  in  their 
covers  certain  works  of  the  most  thrilling  character  known 
in  modern  literature.  When  he  came  back  from  the  farm 
this  transformation  business  had  entirely  escaped  his 
memory,  and  it  was  not  even  recalled  when  he  heard  his 
mother  tell  the  teacher,  who  called  in  the  hopes  of  learn- 
ing that  that  bean  had  sprouted  and  grown  into  his  brain 
and  would  probably  terminate  fatally,  that  he  was  the  best 
boy  to  study  during  vacation  she  ever  saw,  and  would 
pore  for  hours  over  his  books,  and  even  seem  anxious  to 
get  at  them.  Master  Bilderback  had  forgotten  all  about 
it,  and  only  thought  it  was  some  of  his  mother's  foolish- 
ness, of  which  he  believed  her  to  possess  great  store. 
As  for  the  bean,  the  amazed  teacher  learned  that  it  never 
was  ciscovered,  it  never  came  out  and  it  never  hurt  him 
a  particle,  and  had  just  naturally  ceased  to  be.  And  the 
teacher  went  sadly  away,  moralizing  over  this  case,  and 
that  of  little  Ezra  Simpson,  the  befet  and  most  obedient, 
and  most  studious,  and  quietest,  and  most  lovable  boy  in 
her  school  who,  one  day  stumbled  and  ran  the  end  of  a 
slate  pencil  into  his  nose  and  died  the  next  day.  And 
long,  long  after  she  had  got  out  of  sight  of  Bilderback '& 


88  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

house,  she  could  hear  the  hopeful  Master  Bilderback 
shouting,  "  Shoot  that  hat !  "  and  "  Pull  down  your  vest! " 
to  gentlemen  driving,  with  their  families  or  sweethearts, 
past  the  mansion.  Dreadful  boy,  she  thought,  he  will 
surely  come  to  some  end,  some  day. 

Well,  it  was  only  the  next  day  when  the  reading  class 
was  called,  Master  Bilderback  took  his  place  for  the  first 
time.  The  boy  next  to  him  had  no  book,  and  as  he  was 
called  first,  he  just  took  Master  Bilderback's,  who  turned 
to  look  on  with  the  boy  on  the  other  side.  The  class 
was  reading  the  selection  from  "  Old  Curiosity  Shop," 
and  a  girl  had  just  finished  reading  the  tender  para- 
graphs, "  She  was  dead.  Dear,  gentle,  patient,  noble 
Nell  was  dead.  Her  little  bird  —  a  poor  slight  thing  the 
pressure  of  a  finger  would  have  crushed  —  was  stirring 
nimbly  in  its  cage,  and  the  strong  heart  of  its  child -mis- 
tress was  mute  and  motionless  forever." 

Imagine  the  feeling  of  the  teacher  when  the  boy  who 
got  up  with  Master  Bilderback 's  reader  went  on  : 

'' '  Black  fiend  of  the  nethermost  gloom,  down  to  thy 
craven  soul  thou  liest,'  exclaimed  Manfred,  the  Avenger, 
drawing  his  rapier,  '  Draw,  malignant  hound,  and  die ! '  " 

"  '  Down,  perjured  fool !  Villain  and  double-dyed  trai- 
tor, down  with  thy  caitiff  face  in  the  dust.  Dare'st  thou 
defy  me  .'*  Beast  with  a  pig's  head,  thy  doom  is  sealed  ! ' 
exclaimed  the  Mystic  Knight,  throwing  up  his  visor. 
*  Dost  know  me  now.'  I  am  the  Mad  Muncher  of  the 
Bazzarooks! '" 

"  Manfred,  the  Avenger,  dropped  his  blade  at  this  ter- 
rible name,  and  —  " 

'The  teacher  caught  her  breath  and  stopped  the  boy. 
In  tones  of  forced  calmness  she  asked  what  he  was  read- 
ing, and  he  told  her  it  was  Bilderback's  reader,  and 
looked  in  amazement   at   the   innocent   scholastic  back 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  89 

and  the  villainous  interior,  which  was  nothing  less  than 
"The  Blood  on  the  Ceiling;  or,  the  Death  Track  of  the 
Black  Snoozer."  After  requesting  Master  Bilderback  to 
remain  after  school  and  explain,  she  called  the  next 
class,  one  in  Arithmetic. 

"  Fisher,"  she  said,  "  you  may  read  and  analyze  the 
fourth  problem." 

And  Fisher,  who  was  Bilderback's  next  seat  mate,  and 
had  taken  that  young  man's  book  by  mistake,  rose  and 
read, 

"The  purtiest  little  baby,  oh! 
That  ever  I   did  see,  oh  ! 
They  gave  it  paregoric,  oh  ! 
And  sent    it  up  to  glory,  oh  ! 

Fillacy,  follacy,  my  black  hen. 
She  lays  eggs  for  gentlemen  ; 
Sometimes '' 

"  In  mercy's  name,"  shrieked  the  poor  teacher,"what 
have  you  got  there?"  And  investigation  revealed  the 
rather  humiliating  fact  that  when  Mrs.  Bilderback  thought 
her  young  son  was  poring  over  mathematical  problems, 
he  was  learning  choice  vocal  selections  out  of  "  The  Pull- 
Back  Songster  and  Ethiopian  Glee  Book." 

When  the  grammar  class  was  called,  the  teacher  asked 
some  one  to  bring  her  a  book.  Master  Bilderback  was 
the  nearest,  and  he  handed  her  his,  innocently  enough, 
for  he  had  been  busy  with  more  projects  than  we  could 
tell  about  in  a  week,  since  the  arithmetic  class  had  gone 
down.  The  teacher  was  tired  and  listless  with  that 
wearing  worry  and  torture  which  is  only  found  in  the 
school  room,  and  she  listlessly  and  mechanically  opened 
the  book  at  the  place,  and  said, 

"  Mamie,  how  would  you  analyze  and  parse  this  sen- 
tence," and  casting  her  eyes  on  the  page,  she  read : 


9©  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  Ofer  you  dond  vas  got  some  glothes  on,  go  on  dark 
blaces,  off  you  blease.     Ain'd  it?" 

She  laid  down  the  book,  and  burst  into  hysterical  tears, 
unable  even  to  exert  her  authority  to  restrain  the  mirth 
that  burst  out  all  over  the  school  room.  She  dismissed 
the  school,  and  had  not  sufficient  energy  to  punish  even 
Master  Bilderback,  and  that  young  gentleman  only  car- 
ried home  a  note  to  his  father,  requesting  that  citizen 
and  tax  payer  to  reorganize  his  son's  school  library  before 
he  sent  him  back  to  that  palladium  of  our  country's 
liberties,  the  public  school. 


SUBURBAN   SOLITUDE. 


MR.  DRESSELDORF,  who  can't  endure  any  noise 
since  he  sold  his  clarionet,  has  just  moved  into 
the  swee'est  little  cottage  out  on  South  Hill,  and  here,  he 
told  Mrs.  Dresseldorf,  he  would  rest  and  spend  his 
declining  days  under  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree,  with  no 
one  to  molest  or  make  him  afraid.  "  We  have  a  few 
neighbors,"  he  said,  the  afternoon  they  got  comfortably 
and  cozily  settled  ;  "  Mr.  Blodgers,  next  door,  keeps  a 
cow,  and  will  supply  us  with  an  abundance  of  pure,  fresh 
milk;  Mr.  Whackem,  not  far  away,  is  an  honest  team- 
ster, I  understand,  and  will  be  convenient  when  we  want 
a  little  hauling  done  from  town  ;  Mr.  Sturvesant,  just 
down  the  street,  has  a  splendid  dog  that  he  says  keeps 
an  eye  on  the  entire  neighborhood,  and  I  think  we  will 
live  pleasantly  and  happily  here."  And  Mr.  Dresseldorf 
sat  on  the  porch  and  solemnly  contemplated  the  hammer 


AND  OTHFR  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  9I 

bruises  and  the  tack  holes  and  nail  marks  and  abrasions 
of  stove  legs  and  the  pinches  of  obstinate  stove-pipe 
joints  on  his  hands,  and  wondered  if  Providence  would 
be  merciful  to  him  and  strike  the  house  with  lightning 
before  next  moving  day  rolled  round.  And  with  this 
pleasant  and  soothing  thought,  Mr.  Dresseldorf  fell  into 
a  trance  of  ecstatic  content, .delighted  with  the  holy  quiet 
of  the  scene  and  the  neighborhood,  with  Perkins'  meadow 
in  the  serene  distance,  the  sun  sinking  out  of  sight, 
throwing  long  bars  of  burnished  gold  through  a  clump  of 
forest  trees  off  to  the  west,  and  the  summer  air  vibrating 
with  the  hushed  hum  of  insect  life  that  floated  to  the 
Dresseldorf  porch.  So  quiet,  so  full  of  peace,  so  fraught 
with  meditation  and  retrospective  self-communings  was 
the  scene,  that  Mr.  Dresseldorf  wondered  if  he  could 
endure  so  much  happiness  every  evening.     Just  then, 

"  Whoa  !  Who  -  oh  -  oh  -  oh  -  h  !  !  "  Whack  !  whack  ! 
whack!  "Whoa!  ye  son  of  a  thief!  Head  him,  Bill! 
Whoa!" 

"  What  under  the  canopy — "  began  the  startled  and 
astonished  Mr.  Dresseldorf;  but  just  then  he  saw  a  gray 
mule  with  a  paint-brush  tail  flying  down  the  road,  head 
and  tail  up,  and  its  heels  making  vicious  offers  at  every 
animated  object  that  came  within  range.  It  was  plain 
that  one  of  Mr.  Whackem's  mules  had  got  away,  as  the 
honest  teamster  and  his  three  sons  were  seen  skirmishing 
down  the  street  in  hot  pursuit.  Mr.  Dresseldorf  groaned 
as  the  animal  was  cornered,  and  his  picture  of  peaceful 
solitude  fled. 

"Whoa!  Don't  throw  at  him!  Whoa  now!  "  "  Head 
him  off",  dad  !  "  "  Git  down  the  road  furder,  Bill  !  " 
"  Whoa,  whoa,  now !  "  "  Hee  haw  !  hee  haw !  hee  haw !  " 
"Hold  on,  Tom!'*  "Hurry  up!"  "Look  out  for  his 
heels!"     "  Now  ketch  him !  "     Chorus,    "Whoa!    whoa! 


92  risl:  and  fall  of  the  mustache, 

whoa!  "  "  Hee  haw,  hee  haw,  hee  haw!  "  "  Whoop  !  " 
"  Hi !  "  "  Whoop-pee  !  "  "  Dog  gone  the  diddledy  dog 
gone  mule  to  thunder!" 

Mr.  Dresseldorf  groaned  as  the  cavalcade  went  storm- 
ing and  crashing  and  hallooing  down  the  street.  "Thank 
heaven  they're  gone,"  he  said. 

"  Sook-kee !  sook-kee !  sook-kee !  " 

It  sounded  like  a  calliope,  only  it  was  too  far  from  the 
river;  but  it  brought  the  man  of  peace  to  his  feet  all  the 
same. 

"Sook-kee!  sook-kee!    Suke!  suke!  seuke !  " 

It  was  Mr.  Blodgers  calling  his  cow,  and  as  he  empha- 
sized the  summons  by  pounding  on  the  bottom  of  a  tin 
pail  with  the  leg  of  a  milking  stool,  Mr.  Dresseldorf 
moaned  and  buried  his  nervous  hands  in  his  hair  and 
tried  to  pull  the  top  of  his  head  off.  While  Mr.  Blodgers 
was  yelling  and  pounding,  however,  a  hurricane  came 
tearing  up  the  road — a  whirlwind  of  dust  and  whoops 
and  paint-brush  tails  and  horns  and  sticks — and  from 
this  awful  confusion  shot  forth  yells  and  brays  and  bawls 
and  the  discordant  clangor  of  a  cow  bell.  Mr.  Blodgers 
ran  out  into  the  road,  while  Mr.  Dresseldorf  fell  on  his 
knees  and  crammed  his  fingers  in  his  ears. 

"  What'n  thunder's  chasin'  that  keow,  I'd  like  to 
know.?"  queried  Mr.  Blodgers;  then,  raising  his  voice, 
■"Hey!  Hi!  I  say!  Whoop!"  And  he  was  tossed  over 
Mr.  Dresseldorf 's  fence  into  a  garden  urn,  and  the  hur- 
ricane passed  on  up  the  street,  leaving  Mr.  Blodgers 
howling  like  a  dervish,  and  beseeching  the  demoralized 
Dresseldorf  to  bring  him  some  arnica  and  whisky.  The 
wretched  man  rose  to  minister  to  the  sufferings  of  his 
neighbor,  and  got  the  two  needful  medicines;  but  just  as 
he  came  out  of  the  house  the  programme  changed  again. 
Mr.  Sturvesant's  dog,   keeping  an  eye   upon   the   entire 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  93 

neighborhood,  had  met  the  whirlwind  above  mentioned 
up  at  the  next  corner,  and  had  promptly  turned  it 
back.  This  unexpected  retrograde  movement  placed  Mr. 
Whackem,  the  three  Masters  Whackem,  and  a  small  mob 
of  juvenile  volunteers  who  had  been  picked  up  at  one 
point  of  the  chase  and  another  to  help  catch  the  mule, 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  charging  mule  and  Mr. 
Blodgers'  cow.  An  immediate  adjournment  was  at  once 
moved  and  carried,  and  the  entire  community  lit  out  for 
the  nearest  place  of  refuge;  but  Mr.  Sturvesant's  dog 
kept  up  the  chase  with  such  vigor  that  the  whole  vocifer- 
ous, yelling,  braying,  bawling,  barking  mass  came  bulging 
through  Dresseldorf 's  front  fence,  upsetting  the  owner  of 
the  property  and  carrying  him  and  Mr.  Blodgers  out  into 
the  alley,  where  the  mass  fell  apart,  the  animals  running 
to  their  respective  stables,  and  the  "  human  warious  " 
seeking  their  homes  as  soon  as  they  found  each  other. 
Mr.  Dresseldorf  advertised  his  place  for  sale  the  next 
morning.  He  is  fond  of  the  quiet  life  of  a  suburban 
residence,  he  says,  but  it  is  a  little  too  far  from  business. 


94  l^ISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


A   BURLINGTON   ADDER. 


BURLINGTON  rejoices  in  a  mathematical  prodigy. 
Indeed  it  is  a  perfect  wonder,  and  our  educational 
men  and  teachers  used  to  find  a  great  deal  of  instruction 
and  some  pleasure  in  interviewing  the  child,  a  bright  boy 
of  nine  years.  His  name  is  Alfred  J.  Talbot,  and  his 
parents  live  at  No.  1223  North  Main  Street.  The  boy's 
health  is  rather  delicate,  so  that  he  has  not  been  sent  to 
school  a  great  deal;  but  he  can  perform  arithmetical  feats 
that  remind  one  of  the  stories  told  about  Zerah  Colburn. 
He  was  always  bright,  and  possesses  a  remarkable  mem- 
ory. In  company  with  two  or  three  members  of  the 
school  board,  we  went  to  the  home  of  the  prodigy  for  an 
interview.  He  was  marvelously  ready  with  answers  to 
every  question.  Our  easy  starters,  such  as,  "Add  6  and 
3,  and  7  and  8,  and  2  and  9  and  5,"  were  answered  like 
a  flash,  and  correctly  every  time.  Then  when  we  got 
the  little  fellow  at  his  ease,  one  of  the  Directors  took 
him  in  hand.     He  said  : 

"Three  times  11,  plus  9,  minus  17,  divided  by  3,  plus 
I,  multiplied  by  3,  less  3,  add  7,  is  how  many?  " 

"  Nine,"  shouted  the  boy,  almost  before  the  last  word 
was  spoken;  and  the  School  Inspectors  and  the  news- 
paper man  looked  at  each  other  in  blank  amazement. 
Then  the  other  Inspector  tried  it: 

"Multiply  5  by  13,  add  19,  subtract  39,  divide  by  2, 
add  7,  multiply  by  9,  add  15,  divide  by  7,  add  8,  multiply 
by  3,  less  13,  add  9,  multiply  by  7,  divide  by  9,  add  13, 
divide  by  it — how  many?" 

"Ninety-six!"  fairly  yelled    the   delighted   boy,   clap- 


er 


^^^g£: 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  95 

ping  his  hands  with  merriment  at  the  amazement  which 
crowned  the  countenances  of  his  interviewers,  and  the 
Inspectors  turned  to  the  paper  man  and  said,  "  Take 
him,  Mr.  Hawkeye.'' 

Then  we  did  our  best  to  throw  the  boy.  As  fast  as  we 
could  speak,  and  without  punctuation,  we  rattled  off  this  : 

"  Add  24  to  17^  multiply  by  9^^  divide  by  >^  add  ^2> 
per  cent,  multiply  by  16  extract  square  root  add  9  divide 
by  3-5  of  7-8  add  119  divide  by  771^  times  44^  square 
the  quotient  and  multiply  by  1724  add  77  and  divide  by 
33  how  ma " 

But  before  we  could  say  the  last  syllable  the  boy  fairly 
screamed, 

"127^!     Ask  me  a  hard  one !  " 

We  had  seen  enough,  and  with  feelings  amounting 
almost  to  awe  we  left  this  wonderful  boy.  We  talked 
about  his  marvelous  powers  all  the  way  down.  Finally 
it  happened  to  occur  to  one  of  the  Inspectors  to  ask  the 
other  Inspector, 

"  Did  you  follow  my  example  through  to  notice 
whether  the  boy  answered  it  correctly  ?  " 

The  tone  of  amazement  gradually  passed  away  from 
the  Inspector's  face,  as  he  faintly  gasped, 

"  N  -  n  -  no,  not  exactly,  did  you  ?  " 

Then  the  first  Inspector  ceased  to  look  mystified  and 
began  to  look  very  much  like  Mr.  Skinner  did  when  he 
got  the  Nebraska  fruit,  and  they  both  turned  to  the  gen- 
tleman who  represented  the  literary  department  of  the 
expedition  and  said  lugubriously, 

"Did  you.?  " 

But  he  only  said  : 

"The  Burlington  and  Northwestern  narrow-gauge 
railroad  will  be  owned,  not  by  eastern  capitalists,  but  by 
the  people  through  whose  country  it  passes." 


96  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MISAPPLIED  SCIENCE. 


IT  was  only  a  few  years  ago  the  New  York  Journal 
of  Information  published  the  statement  that  a  man 
in  New  Hampshire,  who  had  been  unable  to  speak  for 
five  years,  went  to  sleep,  one  night,  with  a  quid  of  to- 
l^acco  in  his  mouth,  and  awoke  the  next  morning  with 
his  voice  perfectly  strong  and  smooth  and  steady.  Old 
Mr.  Jarvis,  who  lives  out  on  Vine  Street,  is  sorely  afflicted 
with  an  impediment  in  his  speech,  and  often  says  he 
would  give  a  hundred  dollars  if  he  could  only  "  t  - 1  -  t-  t  - 
taw-  taw-talk  f- f- f-f-fast enough t- t- to  t- t- tellagug- 
gug  -  gug  -  grocer  what  he  w  -  w  -  wants  bub  -  bub  -  bub- 
before  he  gug  -  gug-  gets  it  measured  out."  He  takes  the 
Journal^  an  J  had  taken  it  for  twenty -three  years,  and 
he  firmly  believed  every  thing  he  ever  read  in  it;  Syl- 
vanus  Cobb's  stories,  Mr.  Parton's  Lives  of  Eminent 
Americans,  the  answers  to  correspondents  —  Mr.  Jarvis 
had  taken  them  all  in  and  believed  every  word.  He 
thought  that  probably  this  quid -of- tobacco  treatment 
might  help  his  voice  a  little,  and  he  resolved  to  give  it  a 
good  trial  any  how.  The  first  trouble  was  that  he  didn't 
chew,  and  Mrs.  Jarvis  would  never  allow  a  bit  of  tobacco 
about  the  house.  But  he  begged  a  big  "  chaw"  of  navy, 
and  when  he  went  to  bed  he  tucked  it  snugly  away  in  his 
cheek,  and  prepared  to  sleep  in  hope.  He  had  his  mis- 
givings, and  they  grew  in  number  and  strength  as  the 
([uid  began  to  assert  itself,  and  be  sociable,  and  assimilate 
itself  with  its  surroundings.  Mrs.  Jarvis  asked  him  if  he 
fastened  the  front  gate. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  97 

"  Um,"  said  Mr.  Jarvis,  meaning  that  he  had. 

"  And  are  you  sure  you  locked  the  front  door  ?  "  queried 
his  restless  spouse. 

"  Um,"  replied  Mr.  Jarvis,  meaning  that  he  had  not» 
for  he  was  by  this  time  in  no  condition  to  open  his 
mouth. 

"  Hey.?  "  she  replied. 

"  Um,"  persisted  Mr.  Jarvis. 

"  What  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Um  -  m-  m! "  protested  Mr.  Jarvis. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  you  can't  make  me  believe  you  are 
that  near  asleep  this  soon." 

"Um-m-m!"  said  Mr.  Jarvis;  meaning  that  he 
would  get  up  and  bounce  her  out  of  that  front  door  if  she 
didn't  hold  her  clack. 

Presently  she  sat  up  in  bed.  Sniff,  sniff!  "  John  Jar- 
vis," she  exclaimed,  ''  if  I  don't  smell  tobacco  in  this 
house,  I'm  a  sinful  woman.     Don't  you  smell  it.?" 

"  'M,"  replied  Mr.  Jarvis  ;  which  by  interpretation  is, 
that  he  didn't  smell  any  thing  and  was  going  to  sleep. 

"  It's  in  this  very  room,"  she  persisted,  excitedly. 

"  Um,"  said  Mr.  Jarvis,  meaning  that  she  must  be 
crazy. 

"  It's  under  the  bed !  "  she  screamed.  "  There's  a  burg- 
lar under  the  bed!  Oh,  help!  fire!  police  I  John  Jar- 
vis ! ! !  "  And  she  smote  Mr.  Jarvis  a  furious  pelt  in  the 
stomach  to  waken  him  up. 

It  was  a  terrific  thump,  and  its  first  effect  was  to  knock 
all  the  atmosphere  out  of  Mr.  Jarvis's  lungs  so  far  that 
he  could  only  recover  his  breath  by  a  violent  gasp,  which 
first  carried  the  quid  of  tobacco  and  all  the  nicotine 
preparation  that  it  had  been  steadily  distilling  down  his 
throat,  and  was  immediately  succeeded  by  a  tremendous 
cough,   as  he   struggled    to   rise  up  in  bed,   which    shot 


98  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

the  quid  squarely  into  the  eye  of  the  shrieking  Mrs. 
Jarvis. 

"  Murder!  murder!"  she  screamed,  "  I'm  stabbed!  I'm 
stabbed!  " 

And  John  Jarvis  choked  and  coughed  and  spit  and 
coughed  and  choked  and  clutched  Mrs.  Jarvis  by  the 
throat  and  tried  to  choke  off  her  noise,  but  he  grew  so 
^'  ill"  that  he  couldn't  hold  his  grip,  and  Mrs.  Jarvis,  the 
moment  her  throat  was  released  from  his  trembling 
pressure,  rose  from  the  half  -  strangled  gurgles  to  the 
sublimity  of  double  -  edged  screams,  and  made  Rome 
howl  with  melody.  And  the  neighbors  broke  into  the 
house  and  found  a  bed  -  room  that  looked  and  smelled 
like  a  jury -room  or  a  street  car,  with  the  sickest  man 
they  ever  saw  lying  with  his  head  over  the  side  of  the 
bed,  groaning  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  a  minute,  and  the 
worst  frightened  woman  since  the  flood  sitting  up  beside 
him,  screaming  faster  than  he  groaned,  while  one  of  her 
eyes  was  plastered  up  with  a  black  quid  of  tobacco. 
And  that  is  the  way  Mr.  Jarvis  came  to  stop  his  Journal. 
He  denounces  it  as  the  most  infamous,  mendacious, 
pestilent  sheet  that  ever  disgraced  American  journalism. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  99 


WIDE  AWAKE. 


o 


NE  day   Mr.   Bellamy,  of    Pond   Street,   read  in   a 
religious  paper  the  following  paragraph  : 


Many  very  good  people  are  annoyed  by  sleepiness  in  church.  The 
following  remedy  is  recommended :  Lift  the  foot  seven  inches  from 
the  floor,  and  hold  it  in  suspense  without  support  for  the  limb,  and 
repeat  the  remedy  if  the  attack  returns. 

Now,  Mr.  Bellamy  is  a  very  good  man,  and  he  is  sub- 
ject to  that  very  annoyance,  which  in  his  case  amounts 
to  a  positive  affliction.  So  he  cut  that  paragraph  out,  in 
accordance  with  the  appended  instruction,  and  pasted  it 
in  his  hat,  and  was  rejoiced  in  his  inmost  soul  to  think 
that  he  had  found  a  relief  from  his  annoyance.  He 
hoped  that  Deacon  Ashbury,  who  had  frowned  at  him  so 
often  and  so  dreadfully  for  nodding,  hadn't  seen  the 
paragraph,  for  the  deacon  sometimes  slept  under  the 
preached  word,  and  Mr.  Bellamy  wanted  to  get  even 
with  him.  And  Mr.  Driscoll,  who  used  to  sit  in  the 
choir,  and  cover  his  own  sleepiness  and  divert  attention 
from  his  own  heavy  eyes  by  laughing  in  a  most  irreverent 
and  indecorous  manner  at  Mr.  Bellamy's  sleepy, visage 
and  struggling  eyes  and  head  —  how  the  good  man  did 
want  to  get  it  on  Driscoll.  So  he  chuckled  and  hugged 
his  treasure,  so  to  speak,  in  his  mind.  He  was  so  con- 
fident that  he  had  found  the  panacea  for  his  trouble  that 
he  went  to  the  minister  and  told  him  what  a  burden  his 
drowsiness  had  been  to  him,  but  that  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  now  to  shake  it  off,  and  to  continue  to  keep  it 
off,  and  he  was  certain  that  he  had  sufficient  strength  of 


lOO  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

mind  and  force  of  will  to  overcome  the  habit.  And  the 
minister  was  so  pleased,  and  commended  Mr.  Bellamy 
so  warmly,  and  said  so  earnestly  that  he  wished  he  had 
one  hundred  such  men  in  his  congregation,  that  Mr. 
Bellamy  was  so  elated  and  happy  and  confident  that  he 
could  hardlx  wait  for  Sunday  to  come  to  try  his  new 
method  of  averting  drowsiness. 

Sunday  came,  however,  and  soon  enough  too,  for  it 
was  Saturday  afternoon  plumb,  chick,  chock  full  of  men 
with  bills,  over-due  notes,  trifling  accounts,  little  balances, 
pay-roll,  rent,  narrow-gauge  subscription,  political  assess- 
ments and  one  little  thing  and  another,  almost  before 
Mr.  Bellamy  knew  it,  although  it  hadn't  been  there  half 
an  hour  before  he  had  some  suspicion  of  it,  and  was  soon 
very  confident  of  it.  Sunday  morning  found  the  good 
man  in  his  accustomed  place,  devout  and  drowsy  as  ever. 
The  church  was  very  comfortably  filled  with  an  attentive 
congregation,  and  Mr.  Bellamy  was  soon  cornered  up  in 
one  end  of  the  pew,  and  the  strange  young  lady  who  sat 
next  him  was  attended  by  a  very  small  white  dog,  that 
looked  like  a  roll  of  cotton  batting  with  red  eyes  and  a 
black  nose.  The  opening  exercises  passed  off  without 
incident,  but  the  minister  hadn't  got  to  secondly  when 
Mr.  Bellamy  suddenly  roused  himself  with  a  start  from 
a  doze  into  which  he  was  dropping.  His  heart  fairly 
stood  still  as  he  thought  how  nearly  he  had  forgotten  his 
recipe.  He  feared  to  attract  any  attention  to  himself 
lest  his  precious  method  should  be  discovered,  and 
slowly  lifted  his  left  foot  from  the  foot  stool  and  held  it 
about  seven  inches  in  the  air.  As  he  raised  his  foot  the 
strange  young  lady  shrunk  away  from  him  in  evident 
alarm.  This  annoyed  Mr.  Bellamy  and  disconcerted 
him  so  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  lowering  his  foot  and 
whispering  an  explanation  when  the  dog,  which  had  been 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  E\^f  SSI'S.     '     '  '    f  O  [ 

quietly  sleeping  by  the  footstool"  o^Terved  'its 'ey'e's,'  ahcl' 
seeing  the  uplifted  foot  slowly  descending  in  its  direc- 
tion, hastily  scrambled  to  its  feet  and  backed  away, 
barking  and  yelping  terrifically.  The  young  lady,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed,  jerked  her  feet  from  off  the  footstool, 
which  immediately  flew  up  under  the  weight  of  Mr.  Bel- 
lamy's other  foot,  and  the  dog,  excited  by  this  additional 
catastrophe,  fairly  barked  itself  into  convulsions.  Deacon 
Ashbury,  awakened  by  the  racket,  came  tiptoeing  and 
frowning  down  the  aisle,  bending  his  shaggy  brows  upon 
Mr.  Bellamy,  who  actually  believed  that  if  he  got  much 
hotter  he  would  break  out  in  flames,  that  not  even  the 
beaded  perspiration  that  was  standing  out  on  his  scarlet 
.face,  could  extinguish.  The  young  lady  rose  to  leave 
the  pew,  Mr.  Bellamy  rose  to  explain,  and  as  he  did  so, 
she  was  cxuite  convinced  of  what  she  had  before  been 
suspicious,  that  he  was  crazy.  She  backed  out  of  the 
pew  and  sought  Deacon  Ashbury 's  protection.  Mr. 
Bellamy  attempted  to  whisper  an  explanation  to  the 
deacon,  but  that  austere  official  motioned  him  back  into 
his  seat,  and  as  the  minister  paused  until  the  interrup- 
tion should  cease,  said  in  a  severe  undertone  that  was 
heard  all  over  the  church. 

"You've  been  dreaming  again,  Brother  Bellamy." 
Mr.  Bellamy  sank  into  his  seat,  quite  covered  with 
confusion  as  with  a  couple  of  garments  and  a  bed 
quilt,  and  his  distress  was  greatly  aggravated  when  he 
looked  up  into  the  choir  and  saw  DriscoU,  convulsed 
with  merriment,  stuffing  his  handkerchief  into  his  mouth, 
and  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter. 

After  service  Mr.  Bellamy,  who  was,  all  through  the 
service,  the  center  of  attraction  for  the  entire  congrega- 
tion, waited  for  his  pastor,  and  made  one  more  e|fort  to 
explain    his    unfortunate    escapade.     But    the    minister. 


162  "  RMSH    kNl5».t'ALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

wno'sfe 's'tffm(5ii'4TaKl''be'en  quite  spoiled  by  the  affair, 
waved  him  to  silence  and  said,  quite  coldly : 

"  Never  mind,  Brother  Bellamy;  don't  apologize;  you 
meant  very  well,  I  dare  say,  but  if  you  make  so  much 
disturbance  when  you  are  awake,  I  believe  1  would 
prefer  to  have  you  sleep  quietly  through  every  sermon  I 
preach." 

Mr.  Bellamy  has  since  stopped  his  church  paper,  and 
transferred  his  subscription  to  the  Hawkeye^  saying 
that  if  he  could  just  find  the  wretch  who  set  stumbling 
blocks  and  snares  in  the  columns  of  the  religious  press 
for  the  feet  of  weak  believers,  he  could  die  happy. 


THE  ARTLESS   PRATTLE  OF  CHILDHOOD. 


WE  always  did  pity  a  man  who  does  not  love  chil- 
dren. There  is  something  morally  wrong  with 
such  a  man.  If  his  tenderest  sympathies  are  not 
awakened  by  their  innocent  prattle,  if  his  heart  does  not 
echo  their  merry  laughter,  if  his  whole  natu-e  does  not 
reach  out  in  ardent  longings  after  their  pure  thoughts 
and  unselfish  impulses,  he  is  a  sour,  crusty,  crabbed  old 
stick,  and  the  world  full  of  children  has  no  use  for  him. 
In  every  age  and  clime,  the  best  and  noblest  men  loved 
children.  Even  wicked  men  have  a  tender  spot  left  in 
their  hardened  hearts  for  little  children.  The  great  men 
of  the  earth  love  them.  Dogs  love  them.  Kamehame- 
kemokimodahroah,  the  King  of  the  Cannibal  islands, 
loves  Ahem.  Rare,  and  no  gravy.  Ah  yes,  we  all  love 
children. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  103 

And  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  talk  with  them.  Who  can 
chatter  with  a  bright -eyed,  rosy -cheeked,  quick-witted 
little  darling,  anywhere  from  three  to  five  years,  and  not 
appreciate  the  pride  which  swells  a  mother's  breast,  when 
she  sees  her  little  ones  admired.     Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure. 

One  day,  ah  can  we  ever  cease  to  remember  that 
dreamy,  idle,  Summer  afternoon  —  a  lady  friend  who  was 
down  in  the  city  on  a  shopping  excursion,  came  into  the 
sanctum  with  her  little  son,  a  dear  little  tid-todiler  of 
five  bright  Summers,  and  begged  us  to  amuse  him  while 
she  pursued  the  duties  which  called  her  down  town. 
Such  a  bright  boy;  so  delightful  it  was  to  talk  to  him. 
We  can  never  forget  the  blissful  half  hour  we  spent  book- 
ing that  prodigy  up  in  his  centennial  history. 

"Now  listen.  Clary,"  we  said  —  his  name  is  Clarence 
Fitzherbert  Alencon  de  Marchemont  Caruthers  —  "and 
learn  about  George  Washington." 

"Who's  he.''"  inquired  Clarence,  etc. 

"  Listen,"  we  said,  "  he  was  the  father  of  his  country." 

"Whose  country  .''  " 

"  Ours  ;  yours  and  mine  ;  the  confederated  union  of 
the  American  people,  cemented  with  the  life  blood  of  the 
men  of  '76,  poured  out  upon  the  altars  of  our  country  as 
the  dearest  libation  to  liberty  that  her  votaries  can  offer." 

"  Who  did.?  "  asked  Clarence. 

There  is  a  peculiar  tact  in  talking  to  children  that  very 
few  people  possess.  Now  most  people  would  have  grown 
impatient  and  lost  their  temper  when  little  Clarence 
asked  so  many  irrelevant  questions,  but  we  did  not.  We 
knew  that,  however  careless  he  might  appear  at  first, 
we  could  soon  interest  him  in  the  story  and  he  would  be 
all  eyes  and  ears.  So  we  smiled  sweetly,  —  that  same 
sweet  smile  which  you  may  have  noticed  on  our  photo- 
graphs, just  the  faintest  ripple  of  a  smile  breaking  across 


I04  Riyii    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

the  face  like  a  ray  of  sunlight,  and  checked  by  lines  of 
tender  sadness,  just  before  the  two  ends  of  it  pass  each 
other  at  the  back  of  the  neck. 

And  so,  smiling,  we  went  on, 

"Well,  one  day  George's  father " 

"  George  who  ?  "  asked  Clarence. 

"  George  Washington.  He  was  a  little  boy  then,  just 
like  you.     One  day  his  father " 

"  Whose  father?  "  demanded  Clarence,  with  an  encour- 
aging expression  of  interest. 

"George  Washington's,  this  great  man  we  were  telling 
you  of.  One  day  Geirge  Washington's  father  gave  him 
a  little  hatchet  for  a " 

"  Gave  who  a  little  hatchet.^  "  the  dear  child  interrupted 
with  a  gleam  of  bewitching  intelligence.  Most  men 
would  have  betrayed  signs  of  impatience,  but  we  didn't. 
We  know  how  to  talk  to  children.     So  we  went  on : 

"  George  Washington.     His " 

"  Who  give  him  the  little  hatchet  ?  " 

"His  father.     And  his  father " 

"  Whose  father  ?  " 

"George  Washington's." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  George  Washington.  And  his  father  told 
him " 

"Told  who.?" 

"Told  George." 

"Oh,  yes,  George." 

And  we  went  on,  just  as  patient  and  as  pleasant  as 
you  could  imagine.  We  took  up  the  story  right  where 
the  boy  interrupted,  for  we  could  see  that  he  was  just 
crazy  to  hear  the  end  of  it.     We  said : 

"And  he  told  him  that " 

"Who  told  him  what.?"  Clarence  broke  in. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS. 


105 


"  Why,  George's  f.ither  told  George." 

"  What  did  he  tell  him  ?  " 

"Why,  that's  just  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  He 
told  him " 

"Who  told  him.?" 

"George's  father.     He " 

"What  for.?" 

"  Why,  so  he  wouldn't  do  what  he  told  him  not  to  do. 
He  told  him 

"George  told  him?"  queried  Clarence. 

"No,  his  father  told  George " 

"Oh!" 

"Yes;  told  him  that  he  must  be  careful  with  the 
hatchet " 

"  Who  must  be  careful?  " 

"George  must." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes;  must  be  careful  with  the  hatchet " 

''What  hatchet.?" 

"Why,  George's." 

"Oh!" 

"  Yes ;  with  the  hatchet,  and  not  cut  himself  with  it, 
or  drop  it  in  the  cistern,  or  leave  it  out  in  the  grass  all 
night.  So  George  went  round  cutting  every  thing  he 
could  reach  with  his  hatchet.  And  at  last  he  came  to  a 
splendid  apple  tree,  his  father's  favorite,  and  cut  it  down, 
and " 

"  Who  cut  it  down  V 

"  George  did." 

"  Oh  !  " 

" but  his  father  came  home  and  saw  it  the  first 


thing,  and " 

"  Saw  the  hatchet .?  " 

"No  ;  saw  the  apple  tree.     And  he  said,  '  Who  has  cut 
down  my  favorite  apple  tree.?'  " 


I06  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE 

"  What  apple  tree?  " 

"  George's  father's.     And   everybody  said  they  didn't 

know  any  thing  about  it,  and " 

*'  Any  thing  about  what  ?  " 

"  The  apple  tree." 

"  Oh !  " 

" and  George  came  up  and  heard  them  talking 


about  it " 

"  Heard  who  talking  about  it }  " 

"  Heard  his  father  and  the  men." 

"  What  was  they  talking  about  ?  " 

"  About  this  apple  tree." 

"  What  apple  tree.'*  " 

"  The  favorite  apple  tree  that  George  cut  down." 

"  George  who  ?  " 

"  George  Washington.*' 

"  Oh !  " 

"  So  George  came  up  and  heard  them  talking  about  it, 
and  he ' ' 

"  What  did  he  cut  it  down  for .?  " 

"  Just  to  try  his  little  hatchet." 

"  Whose  little  hatchet  1 " 

"  Why,  his  own,  the  one  his  father  gave  him." 

"  Gave  who  ?  " 

"Why,  George  Washington. 

"  Who  gave  it  to  him  .^  " 

"His  father  did." 

"Oh!" 

"  So  George  came  up  and  he  said,  '  Father,  I  can  not 
tell  a  lie,  I '  " 

"  Who  couldn't  tell  a  lie  .?  " 

"  Why,  George  Washington.  He  said,  '  Father,  I  can 
not  tell  a  lie.     It  was " 

"His  father  couldn't?" 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  107 

"  Why  no,  George  couldn't." 

"Oh,  George?  oh,  yes." 

" It  was  I  cut  down  your  apple  tree;  I  did " 


"  His  father  did .?  " 

"  No,  no;  it  was  George  said  this." 

"  Said  he  cut  his  father  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no;  said  he  cut  down  his  apple  tree." 

"George's  apple  tree?" 

"  No,  no  ;  his  father's." 

"Oh!" 

"  He  said " 

"His  father  said?" 

"  No,  no,  no;  George  said,  '  Father,  I  can  not  tell  a  lie. 
I  did  it  with  my  little  hatchet.'  And  his  father  said, 
'  Noble  boy,  I  would  rather  lose  a  thousand  trees  than 
have  you  tell  a  lie." 

"George  did?" 

"  No,  his  father  said  that." 

"  Said  he'd  rather  have  a  thousand  apple  trees  ?  " 

"No,  no,  no;  said  he'd  rather  lose  a  thousand  apple 
trees  than " 

"  Said  he'd  rather  George  would  ?  " 

"  No,  said  he'd  rather  he  would  than  have  him  lie." 

"Oh!  George  would  rather  have  his  father  lie? " 

We  are  patient,  and  we  love  children,  but  if  Mrs. 
Caruthers,  of  Arch  Street,  hadn't  come  and  got  her 
prodigy  at  that  critical  juncture,  we  don't  believe  all 
Burlington  could  have  pulled  us  out  of  that  snarl.  And 
as  Clarence  Fitzherbert  Alencon  de  Marchemont  Caruth- 
ers pattered  down  the  stairs,  we  heard  him  telling  his 
ma  about  a  boy  who  had  a  father  named  George,  and  he 
told  him  to  cut  down  an  apple  tree,  and  he  said  he'd 
rather  tell  a  thousand  lies  than  cut  down  one  apple  tree. 


I08  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


SPRING  DAYS  IN  BURLINGTON. 


DOWN  where  the  wake-robin  springs  from  its  slumbers, 
Opening  its  cardinal  eye  to  the  sun ; 
Come  the  dull  echoes  of  far  away  thunders 

Heavy  and  fast  as  the  shots  of  a  gun. 
Up  on  the  hill  where  the  wild  flowers  nestle, 

Like  new  fallen  stars  on  the  green  mossy  strand ; 
There  come  the  dead  notes  of  the  house-cleaning  pestle — 
The  sound  of  the  carpet  is  heard  in  the  land. 

Up!  for  the  song  birds  their  matins  are  singing; 

Up,  for  the  morning  is  tinting  the  skies ; 
Up,  for  the  good  wife  the  clothes-prop  is  bringing 

Out  to  the  line  where  the  hall  carpet  flies. 
Up,  and  away!  for  the  carpet  is  dusty ! 

Fly,  for  the  house-cleaning  days  have  begun  ! 
Run  !  for  the  womanly  temper  is  crusty; 

Up  and  be  doing,  lest  ye  be  undone  ! 

Late,  late  ;  too  late.     Just  one  moment  of  snoring. 

He  wakes  to  the  sound  of  the  tumult  below. 
O'er  the  beating  of  carpets  he  hears  a  voice  roaring, 

"  Breakfast  was  over  three  hours  ago!  " 
See,  he  is  plunged  in  the  front  of  the  battle  ; 

Where  dust  is  the  thickest  they  tell  him  to  stand  ; 
Where  suds,  mops  and  scrub-brushes  spatter  and   rattle, 

And  the  sound  of  the  carpet  is  heard  in  the  land. 


AND    O  1  HER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS. 


109 


LIFE    IN   THE  "  HAWKEYE "  SANCTUM. 


THE  Hawkeye  has  just  got  into  its  new  editorial 
rooms,  and  it  is  proud  to  say  it  has  the  finest,  most 
comfortable,  complete,  and  convenient  editorial  rooms  in 
America.  They  are  finished  off  with  a  little  invention 
which  will  be  of  untold  value  to  the  profession  of  jour- 
nalism when  it  is  generally  adopted;  and  we  know  that 
it  will  rapidly  come  into  universal  use  as  soon  as  its 
merits  are  understood  and  appreciated.  We  believe  it 
is  fully  equal,  in  all  that  the  term  implies,  to  the  famous 
Bogardess  Kicker,  less  liable  to  get  out  of  order,  and 
less  easily  detected  by  casual  visitors.  It  is  known  as 
"  Middlerib's  Automatic  Welcome."  The  sanctum  is 
on  the  same  floor  as  the  news-room,  being  separated 
from  it  by  a  partition,  in  which  is  cut  a  large  window, 
easily  opened  by  an  automatic  arrangement.  The 
editor's  table  is  placed  in  front  of  that  window,  and  near 
the  head  of  the  stairs;  and  on  the  side  of  the  table  next 
the  window,  directly  opposite  the  editor,  the  visitor's 
chair  is  placed.  It  has  an  inviting  look  about  it,  and  its 
entire  appearance  is  guileless  and  commonplace.  But 
the  strip  of  floor  on  which  that  chair  rests  is  a  deception 
and  a  fraud.  It  is  an  endless  chain,  like  the  floor  of  a 
horse-power,  and  is  operated  at  will  by  the  editor,  who 
has  merely  to  touch  a  spring  in  the  floor  to  set  it  in 
motion.  Its  operation  can  best  be  understood  by  per- 
sonal inspection. 

One  morning,  soon  after  the  *'  Middlerib  Welcome  "  liad 


no  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

been  placed  in  position,  Mr.  Bostwick  came  in  with  a 
funny  story  to  t-ll.  He  naturally  flopped  down  into  the 
chair  that  had  the  strongest  appearance  of  belonging  to 
some  one  else,  and  began  in  his  usual  happy  vein  :  "  I've 
got  the  richest  thing— oh!  ah,  ha,  ha!— the  best  thing— 
oh,  by  George!  I  can't — oh,  ha,  ha,  ha!  Oh!  it's  too 
good!  Oh,  by  George,  the  richest  thing!  Oh!  it's  too 
loud!  You  must  never  tell  where  you  got — oh,  by  George, 
I  can't  do  it!  It's  too  good!  You  know— oh,  ha,  ha,  ha, 
oh,  he,  he,  he!  You  know  the — oh,  by  George,  I  ca— " 
Here  the  editor  touched  the  spring,  a  nail-grab  under  the 
bottom  of  the  chair  reached  swiftly  up  and  caught  Mr. 
Bostwick  by  the  cushion  of  his  pants,  the  window  flew 
up,  and  the  noiseless  belt  of  floor  gliding  on  its  course 
bore  the  astonished  Mr.  Bostwick  through  the  window 
out  into  the  news-room,  half-way  down  to  the  cases, 
where  he  was  received  with  great  applause  by  the  de- 
lighted compositors.  The  window  had  slammed  down 
as  soon  as  he  passed  through;  and  when  the  editorial 
foot  was  withdrawn  from  the  spring  and  the  chair  stopped 
and  the  nail-grab  assumed  its  accustomed  place,  young 
Mr.  Bostwick  found  himself  so  kind  of  out  of  the  sanctum, 
like  it  might  be,  that  he  went  slowly  and  dejectedly 
down  the  stairs,  as  it  were,  while  amazement  sat  upon  his 
brow,  like. 

The  next  casual  visitor  was  Mr.  J.Alexis  Flaxeter,  the 
critic.  He  had  a  copy  of  the  Hawkeye  in  his  hand,  with 
all  the  typographical  errors  marked  in  red  ink,  and  his 
face  was  so  wreathed  in  smiles  that  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  where  his  mouth  ended  and  his  eyes  began.  He  took 
the  vacant  chair,  and  spread  the  paper  out  before  him, 
covering  up  the  editorial  manuscript.  "  My  keen  vision 
and  delicate  sense  of  accuracy,"  he  said,  "are  the  great- 
est crosses  of  my  life.     Things  that  you   never  see  are 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  Ill 

mountains  in  my   sight.     Now  here,  you   see,  is   a " 

The  spring  clicked  softly,  like  an  echo  to  the  impatient 
movement  of  the  editor's  foot,  the  nail-grab  took  hold 
like  a  bulldog  helping  a  Burlington  troubadour  over  the 
garden  fence,  the  chair  shot  back  through  the  window 
like  a  meteor,  and  the  window  came  down  with  a  slam 
that  sounded  like  a  wooden  giant  getting  off  the  shortest 
bit  of  profanity  known  to  man ;  and  all  was  silent  again. 
Mr.  Flaxeter  sat  very  close  to  the  frosted  window,  staring 
blankly  at  the  clouded  glass,  seeing  nothing  that  could 
offer  any  explanation  of  what  he  would  have  firmly 
believed  was  a  land  slide,  had  he  not  heard  the  editor, 
safe  in  his  guarded  den,  softly  whistling,  "  We  shall  meet 
but  we  shall  miss  him." 

Then  there  was  a  brief  interval  of  quiet  in  the  sanc- 
tum, and  a  rustling  of  raiment  was  heard  on  the  stairs. 
A  lovely  woman  entered,  and  stood  unawed  in  the  edito- 
rial presence.  The  E.  P.,  on  its  part,  was  rather  nervous 
and  uncomfortable.  The  lovely  woman  seated  herself  in 
the  fatal  chair.  She  slapped  her  little  gripsack  on  the 
table,  and  opened  her  little  subscription  book.  She  said; 
"  I  am  soliciting  cash  contributions — strictly,  exclusively, 
and  peremptorily  cash  contributions  —  to  pay  off  the 
church  debt,  and  buy  an  organ  for  the   Mission  Church 

of  the  Forlorn  Strangers,  and  I  expect ."     There  are 

times  when  occasion  demands  great  effort.  The  editor 
bowed  his  head,  and,  after  one  brief  spasm  of  remorse, 
felt  for  the  secret  spring.  The  window  went  up  like  a 
charm;  the  reckless  nail-grab  hung  back  for  a  second,  as 
if  held  by  a  feeling  of  innate  delicacy,  and  then  it  shut 
its  eyes  and  smothered  its  pity,  and  reached  up  and  took 
a  death-like  hold  on  a  roll  of  able  and  influential  news- 
papers and  a  network  of  string  and  tape,  and  the  caval- 
cade backed  out  into  the  news-room  with  colors  flying. 


112  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

The  chair  stopped  just  before  the  familiar  spirit  who  was 
washing  the  forms;  and,  as  the  lovely  woman  gazed  at 
the  inky  face,  she  shrieked :  "  Merciful  heavens,  where, 
where  am  I  ?  "  and  was  borne  down  the  gloomy  stairway 
unconscious;  while  the  printers  whose  cases  were  near- 
est the  wicked  window  heard  the  editor  singing,  as  it 
might  be  to  himself,  "  Dearest  sister,  thou  hast  left  us." 

An  hour  of  serenity  and  tranquillity  in  the  editorial 
room  was  broken  by  a  brisk,  business-like  step  on  the 
stairs;  the  door  flew  open  with  a  bang  that  shot  the  key 
half-way  across  the  room,  and  a  sociable-looking,  familiar 
kind  of  a  stranger  jammed  into  the  chair,  slapped  his  hat 
over  the  ink-stand,  pushed  a  pile  of  proof,  twenty  pages 
of  copy,  a  box  of  pens,  the  paste-cup,  and  a  pair  of  scis- 
sors off  the  table  to  make  room  for  the  old  familiar  flat 
sample  case,  and  said,  in  one  brief  breath:  "  I  am  agent 
for  Gamberton's  Popular  Centennial  World's  History  and 
American  Citizens'  Treasure  Book  of  Valuable  Informa- 
tion sold  only  by  subscription  and  issued  in  thirty  parts 
each  number  embellished  with  one  handsome  steel-plate 
engraving  and  numerous  beautifully  executed  wood-cuts 
no  similar  work  has  ever  been  published  in  this  country 
and  at  the  exceedingly  low  price  at  which  it  is  off"ered  $2 
per  vol ." 

The  spring  clicked  like  a  pistol-shot,  the  window  went 
up  half-way  through  the  ceiling,  the  nail-grab  took  hold 
like  a  three-barreled  harpoon,  and  the  column  moved  on 
its  backward  way  through  the  window,  down  through  the 
news-room  past  the  foreman,  standing  grim  and  silent, 
by  the  imposing  stone,  past  the  cases,  vocal  with  the 
applause  and  encouraging  and  consolatory  remarks  of  the 
compositors,  on  to  the  alley  windows,  over  the  sills — 
howling,  yelling,  shrieking,  praying,  the  unhappy  agent 
was  hurled  to  the  cruel  pavement,  three   stories  below, 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  IIJ 

where  he  lit  on  his  head  and  plunged  through  into  a  cel- 
lar, where  he  tried  to  get  a  subscription  out  of  a  man  who 
was  shoveling  coal.  * 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWERS. 


IT  was  a  Mt.  Pleasant  girl.  No  other  human  divinity 
could  play  such  a  heartless  trick  on  an  admiring,  nay, 
an  adoring  and  adorable,  young  man.  He  always  praised 
the  flowers  she  wore,  and  talked  so  learnedly  about 
flowers  in  general,  that  this  incredulous  young  angel 
"  put  up  a  job  "  on  him — if  one  may  be  so  sacrilegious 
as  to  write  slang  in  connection  with  so  much  beauty  and 
grace.  She  filled  the  bay  window  with  freshly  potted 
weeds  which  she  had  laboriously  gathered  from  the  side- 
walk and  in  the  hollow  under  the  bridge,  and  when  he 
came  round  that  evening  she  led  the  conversation  to 
flowers,  and  her  admirer  to  the  bay  window.  "  Such 
lovely  plants  she  had,"  she  told  him,  and  he  just  clasped 
his  hands  and  looked  around  him  in  silly  ecstasy,  trying 
to  think  of  their  names. 

"  That  is  Patagonia  influenses^  Mr.  Bogundus,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  the  miserable  cheat  of  a  young  rag- 
weed; "did  you  ever  see  any  thing  so  delicate  ?" 

"Oh!"  he  ejaculated,  regarding  it  reverentially; 
**  beautiful,  beautiful ;  what  delicately  serrated  leaves!" 

"  And,"  she  went  on,  with  a  face  as  angelic  as  though 
she  was  only  saying  '*  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,*' 
"  it  breaks  out  in  the  Summer  in  such  curious  green 
blossoms,  clinging  to  long,  slender  stems.  Only  think  of 
that — green  blossoms."    And  she  gazed  pensively  on  the 


114  R^SE    ^^°    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE. 

young  man  as  though  she  saw  something  green  that 
probably  never  would  blossom, 

"Wonderful,  wonderful  indeed,"  he  said,  "one  can 
never  tire  of  botany.  It  continually  opens  to  us  new 
worlds  of  wonders  with  every  awakening  flower  and 
unfolded  leaf." 

"  And  here,"  she  said,  indicating  with  her  snowy  finger 
a  villainous  sprout  of  that  little  bur  the  boys  call  "beg- 
gar's lice,"  "this  Mendicantis  parasitatis,  what " 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed,  rapturously,  "  where  did  you 
get  it .''  Why,  do  you  know  how  rare  it  is  ?  I  have  not 
seen  one  in  Burlington  since  Mrs.  O'Gheminie  went  to 
Chicago.  She  had  such  beautiful  species  of  them  ;  such 
a  charming  variety.  She  used  to  wear  them  in  her  hair 
so  often." 

"  No  doubt,"  the  angel  said  dryly  ;  and  the  young  man 
feared  he  had  done  wrong  in  praising  Mrs.  O'Gheminie's 
plants  so  highly.  But  the  dear  one  went  on,  and  point- 
ing to  a  young  jimson  weed,  said  : 

"  This  is  my  pet,  this  Jimsonata  filiofensis.^* 

The  young  man  gasped  with  the  pleasure  of  a  true 
lover  of  flowers,  as  he  bent  over  it  in  admiration  and 
inhaled  its  nauseous  odor.     Then  he  rose  up  and  said  : 

"  This  plant  has  some  medicinal  properties." 

"Ah!"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  stiffly,  "it  has.  I  have  smelt  that 
plant  in  my  boyhood  days.  Wilted  on  the  kitchen  stove, 
then  bruised  and  applied  to  the  eruption,  the  leaves  are 
excellent  remedial  agents  for  the  poison  of  the  ivy."  He 
strode  past  the  smiling  company  that  gathered  in  the 
parlor,  and  said  sternly,  "  We  meet  no  more !"  and, 
seizing  her  father's  best  hat  from  the  rack,  he  extinguished 
himself  in  it,  and  went  banging  along  the  line  of  tree- 
boxes  which  lined  his  darkened  way. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  1 15 


SPRING  TIME  IN  AMERICA. 


DEAR,  faded,  flowers,  they  bloom  again. 
Like  echoes  of  the  spring  time  gone ; 
And  mossy  hillside,  shadowy  glen, 

Break  out  in  beauty  like  the  dawn. 
In  regal  beauty,  leaf  and  bud 

Bend  'neath  the  kisses  of  the  breeze, 
And  "  Spanish  Mixture  for  the  ^lood'* 
Smiles  from  the  fences,  rocks  and  trees. 

Dear,  smiling  Spring,  what  tender  hope 

Breathes  from  the  life-awakening  soil ; 
How  "  Bolus'  Anti-bilious  Dope," 

And  "  Dr.  Gastric's  Castor  Oil  " 
Bid  frightened  nature  wake  and  smile ; 

For  spring  time's  blossoms  fill  us  less 
With  thoughts  of  pansies  than  with  vile 

"  Panaceas  "  for  "Biliousness." 

If  to  the  wooded  nook  we  stray, 

Where  every  swelling  germ  is  huge 
With  life  ;  each  gray-browed  rock  will  say, 

"Use  Philogaster's  Vermifuge." 
If  from  these  sylvan  bowers  we  fly. 

We  fly,  alas,  to  other  ills  ; 
And  farm-yard  gates  and  barn-doors  cry, 

"Take  Ginsengrooter's  Liver  Pills." 

Each  blue-eyed  violet  hides  a  "  Pill," 
There's  scent  of  "  Rhubarb  "  in  the  air ; 


Il6  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  Rheumatic  Plasters  "  line  each  hill, 
And  "  Bitters  "  blossom  everywhere. 

"Vyith  "  Ague  Cures"  the  eyes  are  seared; 
The  air  is  thick,  or  thin,  I  meant, 

For  Nature's  face  and  clothes  are  smeared 
With  "  Universal  Liniment." 


WOODLAND  MUSIC  AND  POETRY. 


BUT  Mr.  Middlerib's  greatest  delight,  escaping 
from  his  daily  wrangle  with  phlegmatic  Peorians, 
was  to  seek  some  cool,  sequestered  spot,  where  the 
air  was  vocal  with  the  song  of  birds,  there  to  read,  and 
ponder,  and  doze,  and  blend  with  the  melody  of  the 
woodland  warblers  wTathful  objurgations  of  the  gnats, 
and  flies,  and  mosquitoes,  and  hard-backed  bugs  that 
nobody  knew  the  names  of.  But  his  poetical  nature 
rose  above  all  these  minor  distractions,  and  he  enjoyed 
his  seclusion  and  its  sylvan  delights.  One  lovely 
morning  he  sat  in  a  vine-embowered  porch,  with  four 
cages  of  canaries  hanging  above  his  head,  and  the  trees 
around  fairly  alive  with  the  wild  birds,  and  as  he  listened 
to  the  varied,  melodious  passages  of  the  wild-wood 
orchestra,  he  grew  enraptured,  and  in  a  moment  of 
enthusiasm  gave  himself  up  to  poetry  for  Mrs.  M.'s 
benefit.  He  opened  the  book  in  his  hand,  and  in  a 
lull  of  the  music  he  began  : 

**A  cloud  lay  cradled  near  the  set " 


"  Tweetle,  tweetle,  twee  twee  tweedle  dee  tweet  tweet !" 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  II7 

broke  in  ear-piercing  chorus  from  the  four  cages,  "  twee, 
twee,  tweedle  de  deedle,  twee  twee!" 

"  What  a  delightful  interruption,"  said  Mr.  Middlerib, 
sweetly;  and,  with  a  tender  smile  wrinkling  his  placid 
face,  like  the  upper  crust  of  a  green  apple  pie,  he  waited 
for  the  music  to  cease,  and  resumed : 

"  A  cloud  lay  era " 


"Twee,  twee,  twee-ee-ee,  tweedle,  tweedle,  tweedle! 
Tweet-te-deet-deet,  tweet  tweet!  Tweedle-de-deedle, 
tweetle,  tweetle  tweet  tweet!" 

"  A  poem  without  words,"  said  Mr.  Middlerib,  softly, 
glancing  from  his  book  toward  the  cages  wherein  eight 
yellow  throats  were  manufacturing  music  of  the  shrillest 
key  that  ever  developed  an  ear-ache  or  woke  up  a  deaf 
and  dumb  asylum.  Presently  he  got  another  chance,  and 
resumed  once  more  : 

"A  cloud  lay  cradled  near  the  set " 


"  To-whoot !  Towhoot!  Whootle-te- toot-toot  !"  came 
from  a  bird  in  the  nearest  hickory,  a  solemn-looking  bird 
with  a  brown  back  and  a  voice  like  a  wooden  whistle. 
Mr.  Middlerib  paused  and  glanced  toward  the  tree,  while 
the  benign  smile  which  made  his  face  look  like  a  dam- 
aged photograph, of  one  of  the  early  Christian  martyrs, 
faded  away  like  a  summer  twilight.     He  resumed: 

"  A  cloud  lay  era " 


"  Too-toot  too  doodle  toot-te-doot !  Wheetle  de  deetle, 
tweet  tweet  tweetle  tweet,  twee  twee  whoot  de  doot  too 
too,  chippity-wippity,  cheep-cheep-cheep,  whoot,  squack 
squack !"  went  off  the  whole  chorus,  cages  and  trees, 
supplemented  by  a  visiti'Fig  party  of  cat-birds,  all  aroused 


Il8  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

into  indignant  and  jealous  protest  by  the  obtrusive  solo 
of  the  wooden-whistle  bird,  who  appeared  to  be  an  object 
of  general  dislike.  Mr.  Middlerib,  thinking  he  would 
read  down  opposition,  went  right  on  : 

'* died  near  the  setting  sun, 


A  gleam  of  crim '' 

"  K-r-r-r-r-r-r ! " 

A  woodpecker  tapped  his  merry  roundelay  on  the  roof 
of  the  porch,  and  Mrs.  Middlerib  sprang  from  her  chair 
with,  "Mercy  on  us!  what  is  that?"  Mr.  Middlerib 
made  a  cutting  remark  about  people  who  had  no  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful  in  nature  or  art,  and   remarked : 


"  A  gleam  of  crimson  tinged  its " 

"  Twee-ee,  twee,  deedle-eedle-odle  twiddle  twoddle, 
twoot,  too  too  tweedle  oot !  Teedle  idle  eedle  odle,  twee 
twee,  twee!  Pe  weet,  pe  weet!  Whootle  ootle  tootle 
too,  squack  squack !  " 

Mr.  Middlerib  elevated  his  voice  to  about  ninety 
degrees  in  the  shade,  and  roared : 

" tinged  its  braided  snow, 


Long  had  1  wat " 

"  Caw,  caw,  caw  !  Ca-a-a-aw  !  "  came  from  the  pen- 
sive crow,  startled  from  its  quiet  retreat  in  the  old  dead 
Cottonwood,  and  Miss  Middlerib  giggled.  But  Mr.  M. 
inflated  his  lungs  and  roared  on  : 

*' ched  the  glory  moving  on, 


O'er  the  still  radiance- 


"Tweetle  de  twootle,  caw,  caw,  tweetle  doodle  tweet 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  II9 

tweet!     K-r-r-r-r-r-r,  krk,   krk!  twee  deedle  eet   tweet! 
teedle   idle,  whoot,  toot,  twoot !   who !  squack,    squack, 

k-r-r-r " 

"  Shut  up,  ye  nasty,  squawking,  yallipin',  howlin'  little 
beasts  !  Shoo  !  Light  out  o'  this  or  I'll  stone  ye  from 
here  to  Halifax  !  Scat  with  yer  noise  !  Oh  !"  exclaimed 
the  exasperated  worshiper  of  nature  as  he  hurled  his 
book  into  the  nearest  tree  and  went  off  the  porch  to  look 
for  some  stones,  "  If  there  is  any  thing  in  this  world  I 
hate  more  than  another,  its  a  lot  of  nasty,  flittering, 
fidgety,  yowping,  howling  birds!  Ugh!  "  And  he  threw 
his  shoulder  nearly  out  of  joint,  and  sprained  his  arm,  in 
a  herculean  but  futile  effort  to  hit  a  black  bird  a  mile 
and  a  half  away,  with  a  rock  as  big  as  a  straw  hat.  He 
has  dropped  the  sulphur  baths  for  the  present  and  taken 
to  arnica. 


BUYING  A  TIN  CUP. 


THE  town  was  dozing  in  the  drowsy  sunlight  of  a 
dull  August  afternoon,  when  a  dejected  looking 
man,  with  the  appearance  of  one  who  was  making  des- 
perate efforts  to  appear  unconcerned,  stepped  into  a 
prominent  and  fashionable  dry  goods  establishment  up 
on  Jefferson  street.  Scorning  the  proffered  stool,  he 
braced  himself  firmly  against  the  counter,  and  looking 
the  polite  and  attentive  clerk  fixedly  in  the  eye,  broke 
the  impressive  silence  by  abruptly  demanding  : 

"  Gimme  tinkup!  " 

"  We  do  not  keep  them,  sir,"  smilingly  replied  the 
affable  clerk,  and  the  glare  of  suspicion  with  which  that 


I20  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

man  regarded  him  was  sufficient  to  chill  the  blood  of  a 
snake. 

"  Donkeep  tinkups?  "  he  asked,  quickly  and  distrust- 
fully 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk,  "we  have  no  tin  cups. 
This  is  a  dry  goods  store.  You  will  find  the  tin  store 
farther  up  the  street." 

"Few  donkeep  notinkups — watchkeep?"  demanded 
the  man,  imperiously. 

"  We  have  grenadines,  calicos,  bareges,  gros  grain  rib- 
bons, tarletan,  velvets,  moire  antique,  empress  cloth, 
pongee  and  Japanese  silks " 

"Shut  her  off!"  ejaculated  the  man,  "  Puttit  tup! 
Puttit  tup !  " 

"  He  turned  away  with  a  dignified  gesture,  and  walked 
away  with  stately,  though  uncertain  strides,  and  dived 
into  the  Plunder  store,  where  he  startled  the  proprietor 
by  the  same  urgent  demand  for  the  "tinkup,"  and  he 
was  finally  piloted  into  Kaut  &  Kriechbaum's,  where  he 
bought  his  "tinkup,"  which  he  fell  down  on  before  he 
got  to  the  Barret  House  corner,  mashing  it  flat  as  a  pie 
pan.  He  was  helped  into  his  wagon,  and  as  he  drove 
away  the  last  the  citizens  saw  of  him  he  was  holding  the 
flattened  tin  cup  before  him,  exclaiming  ruefully  : 

"Devlofa — lookin — tinkupthatis  '  " 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  121 


ONE  OF  THE   LEGION. 


A  CITIZEN  of  South  Hill, 
His  visage  bathed  in  tears, 
His  raiment  streaked  with  rust  and  dust, 

His  mind  distraught  with  fears. 
Was  leaning  up  by  the  shattered  gate, 

And  his  sad  eyes  gazed  around 
Where  reckless  ruin  here  and  there 

With  fragments  strewed  the  ground. 
But  a  drayman  stood  beside  him 

To  hear  what  he  might  say, 
As  he  stretched  him  out  his  good  right  arm 

And  waited  for  his  pay. 

The  weeping  mover  faltered 

As  he  saw  the  drayman's  hand, 
And  he  said,  "  I  haven't  a  red,  red  cent 

In  all  of  this  broad  fair  land. 
I  haven't  a  clothes  to  my  aching  back 

Save  only  these  rags  you  see ; 
And  all  the  furniture  I  have  left 

Won't  pay  you  half  your  fee. 
There's  a  leg  of  the  table  in  the  street, 

And  the  lamp  globes  strew  the  stair, 
And  the  stovepipe's  flattened  out  like  a  lath, 

And  the  clock  is  not  nowhere. 

"  Tell  my  wife,  if  you  can  find  her. 
That  when  the  job  was  done. 


122  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

The  furniture  wasn't  half  so  good 

As  it  was  when  we  begun. 
That  the  end  of  the  bureau  she's  looking  for 

Is  down  by  the  alley  gate, 
And  the  parlor  mirror  is  bent  so  bad 

She  never  can  pound  it  straight. 
We  broke  the  legs  of  the  kitchen  stove, 

And  we  smashed  the  Parian  vase, 
And  the  dray  ran  over  her  rocking  chair 

And  ruined  its  stately  grace. 

"  Tell  my  sister,  her  darling  new  spring  hat 
Was  packed  in  a  bag  of  corn, 

And  I  never  again  can  look  in  her  face 

.    And  meet  her  glance  of  scorn. 

We  spilled  coal  oil  on  her  summer  silk, 
And  we  tore  her  cashmere  sacque, 

For  her  dressing  bureau  fell  off  the  dray 
And  the  horse  kicked  out  its  back. 

"  There's  another,  not  a  sister. 

In  happier  days  gone  by. 
You'd  know  her  by  the  savage  light 

That  glittered  in  her  eye. 
Too  business-like  for  foolery, 

Too  sharp  for  my  excuses  — 
Ah  me,  I  fear  adversity 

Has  naught  but  bitter  uses  ; 
Tell  her,  the  last  time  you  saw  me — 

For  ere  the  clock  strikes  ten, 
I'll  be  at  work  on  the  '  Third  Degree,' 

The  happiest  of  men  ; 
Tell  her  I  said  that  she  could  go 

To  the  bow-wow  wow-wow  wows ; 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I23 

That  I'd  stay  down  town  when  lodge  was  out, 

And  sleep  at  a  boarding-house 
Tell  her  she  needn't  sit  up  for  me, 

And  she  needn't  leave  no  light ' 

And  a  voice  came  out  of  tiie  hall  and  said, 

"  You  don't  go  to  no  Lodge  to-night." 

His  voice  was  gone  in  a  minute, 

He  gasped  and  tried  to  speak  ; 
He  tried  to  swear,  but  the  drayman  says 

That  he  couldn't  raise  a  squeak. 

And  his  mother-in-law  rose  slowly, 

And  calmly  she  looked  down 
Oa  the  green  grass  of  the  littered  yard, 

With  household  treasures  strewn. 
Yes,  calmly  on  that  dreadful  scene 

She  gazed,  and  looked  around, 
And  said  to  the  weeping  man  by  the  gate, 

"  Pick  them  things  up  off  the  ground." 


124  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


A    TACITURN  WITNESS. 


AN  ordinary  case  of  assault  and  battery  was  called  in 
IX  Judge  Stutsman's  court,  and  the  prosecuting  wit- 
ness was  duly  sworn:  Phelim  O'Shaughnessy,  a  little, 
weazen -faced  man,  with  a  stubbly  beard  all  over  his  jaws 
and  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  flanking  the  snubbiest  of  noses. 
"Now,  then,  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  the  court, 
•'  tell  what  you  know  about  this  matter  in  as  few  words 
as  you  possibly  can." 

"  Faix,  thin,  yer  anner,  an'  I  will  do  that  same,*"* 
replied  the  witness,  with  great  volubility.  "Av'  there  is 
ony  thing  I  do  be  despisin'  it's  wan  ov  thim  same  whur- 
rimurroo  gabblers  that  niver  know  when  they're  through. 
When  ye  git  troo  pumpin,  sez  I,  lave  the  handle  ;  that's 
me.  An'  ye  niver  see  an  O'Shaughnessy  in  the  wor-r-ld, 
yer  anner,  that  wur  a  cackler.  I  mind  me  mither's  own 
uncle  that  ever  was,  Tim  the  Croaker  they  used  to  be 
callin'  him,  though  his  name  was  Timothy  Mahone 
O'Dubbleriggle  Balbrigganainey,  for  be  the  token  he 
niver  wur  known  to  say  more  nor  wan  wor-rud  at  a  time, 
yer  anner,  an'  that  wan  he  said  with  a  grunt.  There 
was  wan  day,  whin  he  wur  gamekeeper  fur  my  lord  Don- 
ald McAlpin  Clanargotty  Callum  O'Dowd,  a  Scotch  gin- 
tleman  that  owned  a  bit  av  a  shootin*  box  might  be,  in 
the  north  uv " 

"Well,  there,  there,  there,"  interrupted  the  court, 
"  that's  enough  about  your  ancestry ;  now  tell  what  you 
know  about  this  case  of  yours,  and  stick  to  the  point." 

"  The  p'int,  is  it,  avick  ?"  replied  the  witness ;  "  Musha, 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  1 25 

thin,  it  wur  fvvhat  I  wur  cornin'  to,  jist.  It's  what  I  sez 
to  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  twinty  times  a  day,  an'  she's  the 
wor-r-rst  talker  between  here  an'  Dublin  bay.  '  Norah/ 
sez  I;  'Is  it  you,*  sez  she;  '  Faix  thin,  an'  who  else 
wud  it  be  ? '  sez  I ;  *  An'  phwat  uv  it  ? '  sez  she  ;  '  Div 
ye  mind  me,  now?  *  sez  I;  *  Sorra  the  wan  uv  me  does,* 
sez  she  ;  '  Wait  thin,  till  I  tell  ye,*  sez  I ;  '  Whisht,  thin, 
go  on  with  yer  blarney,*  sez  she ;  '  Howld  yer  hush  a 
minit,  thin,*  sez  I,  *  an'  let's  have  a  second  av  quiet ;' 
*  What ! '  sez  she,  '  wid  ye  in  the  house?'  '  Listhen,' 
sez  I ;  '  Whisper,  thin,'  sez  she ;  '  Well,  thin,'  sez  I, '  kape 
to  the  pint.  Av  yez  will  do  nothin'  but  talk  from  the 
peep  o'  mor-r-rn  till  the  lasht  wink  uv  night,  kape  till  the 
p'int.*  Ah,  yer  anner,  it's  the  wan  fur  talkin',  she  is,  is 
Norah.  It  isn't  an  O'Shaughnessy  she  is,  yer  anner, 
her  father,  rest  his  sowl,  was  ould  Darby  Muldoon,  the 
solid  man,  an'  he  wur  sint  to  Austhralia  for  twenty-sivin 
years  panal  sarvitude  fur  talkin'  a  thraveler  to  death 
whin  he  wur  dhrivin'  him  from " 

"  That  will  do,"  interrupted  the  court,  sternly  ;  "  we've 
heard  enough  of  your  reminiscences.  Now  you  tell  what 
you  know  about  this  case,  or  I'll  fine  you  for  contempt. 
You  have  filed  information  against  Morris  McHogadan 
for  assaulting  you  with  a  paving  hammer,  in  the  back 
yard  of  your  own  premises  in  Melrose  Place,  Happy 
Hollow,  and  knocking  three  teeth  down  your  throat, 
breaking  one  of  your  ribs,  and  chewing  your  ear  off. 
Now  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  Is  it  me,  avick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are  the  prosecuting  witness  ;  that  is  your 
own  case,  and  you  filed  the  information  on  which  the 
warrant  was  issued.** 

"  An'  it  says  that  Morris  McHogadan  bate  me  ?  " 

"  It  does,  and  it  is  sworn  to." 


126  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  Oh,  the  divil  an'  all ;  who  shvvore  to  that  ?" 

"You  did." 

" Phwat  ? " 

"You  swore  to  all  that." 

"  Oh,  tower  uv  ivory!     That  Morris  McHogadan  bate 
me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Wid  a  pavin'  hammer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  so  you  declared." 

"  Oh-h-h,  thundher  an'  turf!  An'  bate  me  teeth  down 
the  troat  ov  me  ?  " 

"  So  you  averred." 

"  Oh,  the  bloody-minded  villin  ;  an'  broke  me  rib  .'*  " 

"  That's  what  you  said." 

"  Oh-h-h,  bones  of  the  martyrs ;  and  chawed  off  the 
ear  o'  me  ?  " 

"  So  you  told  us." 

"  Oh,  to  the  divil  wid  the  informashin  that  says  sich  a 
pack  o'  lies.  Morris  McHogadan  bate  me  ?  Och,  Moses 
an'  Aarin,  its  tearin'  ravin'  disthracted  mad  I  am !  Why, 
yer  anner,  it's  a  bloody-minded  lie.  He  can't  fip  wan 
side  o'  me ;  why,  the  pig-eyed  thafe  ov  the  wor-rold,  I 
clawed  all  the  red  hair  out  ov  the  ugly  head  of  him  and 
trowed  him  down  the  bank  ov  the  crick,  and  welted  him 
like  an  ould  shoe  wid  a  splinther  ov  timber  I  grabbed 
out  of  the  crick.  Him  bate  me  ?  He  can't  bate  nobody. 
I  didn't  lave  a  whole  bone  in  his  ugly  carkiss,  an'  av  he 
dares  to  say  I  did,  yer  anner,  I'll  ate  off  his  other  ear  an' 
pound  the  flure  wid  him.  Oh,  the  divil  fly  away  wid 
sich  infermashin.     It's  the  beggar's  own  lie,  an' " 

Here  the  witness  was  cut  short  by  the  court  fining  him 
$10.00  and  costs  for  assault  and  battery,  and  Phelim, 
astonished  into  a  terrific  flow  of  volubility  for  such  a 
taciturn  man,  went  away  with  a  policeman,  arguing  that 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  1 27 

it  wasn't  possible  that  he  could  be  fined  when  he  was 
the  prosecuting  witness,  and  declaring  that  the  case  never 
would  have  gone  against  him  but  for  "  the  bloody-minded 
infermashin,"  which  he  firmly  believed  to  be  the  evil 
work  of  the  designing  Morris  McHogadan. 


THE   SEEDSMAN. 


HOW  doth  the  busy   nurseryman 
Improve  each  shining  hour; 
And  peddle  cions,  sprouts  and  seeds 
Of  every  shrub  and  flower. 

How  busily  he  wags  his  chin, 
How  neat  he*spreads  his  store. 

And  sells  us  things  that  never  grew 
And  won't  grow  any  more. 

Who  showed  the  little  man  the  way 

To  sell  the  women  seed? 
Who  taught  him  how  to  blow  and  lie 

And  coax  and  beg  and  plead  ? 

He  taught  himself,  the  nurseryman; 

And  when  his  day  is  done, 
We'll  plant  him  where  the  lank  rag  weeds 

Will  flutter  in  the  sun. 

t 
But  oh,  although  we  plant  him  deep 

Beneath  the  buttercup. 

He's  so  much  like  the  seed  he  sells. 

He  never  will  come  up. 


128  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


CORNERING  THE  BOYS. 


ONLY  a  few  days  before  they  moved  the  capital,  a 
worthy  lady  of  Peoria  one  morning  detected  her 
two  sons  laughing  immoderately.  Suspecting  that  she 
was  the  cause  of  their  disrespectful  mirth,  the  good 
woman  involuntarily  loosened  her  slipper  and  called  up 
the  young  culprits. 

"Thomas,  what  made  you  laugh.'*  " 

"  Nobody  made  me  laugh;  I  laughed  on  purpose." 

"None  of  your  impudence,  sir.  John,  why  were  you 
laughing  at  the  door  just  now  V 

John  (eagerly) — "Wasn't  laughing  at  the  door,  I  was 
laughing  at  Tom." 

Tom — "  And  I  was  laughing  at  John." 

The  matron  assumed  a  dignified  attitude.  "Now,  my 
boys,  what  were  you  both  laughing  at?  " 

Boys  (in  a  triumphant  shout) — "  We  were  both  laugh- 
ing at  once !  " 

The  good  lady  summoned  all  her  energies  for  a  final 
effort,  and  resolved  to  corner  the  boys  by  a  settling  ques- 
tion. 

"  Now,  then,  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  Tom,  what  made 
John  laugh  and  you  laugh  }  " 

Tom — "  John  didn't  laugh  a  new  laugh  ;  it  was  the  same 
old  laugh!" 

Neither  of  the  boys  got  whipped,  the  slipper  slid  back 
to  its  accustomed  place,  and  to  this  day  nobody  knows 
what  those  boys  laughed  at. 


SELLING  THE  HEIRLOOM. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  1 29 


SELLING   THE    HEIRLOOM. 


ONE  afternoon,  about  a  week  after  the  big  Fourth 
of  July,  a  hungry-looking  man  made  his  appear- 
ance down  near  the  post  office  corner,  carrying  in  his 
arms  an  old-fashioned  clock,  about  four  feet  high, 
with  some  ghastly  looking  characters  scrawled  across 
the  dial,  like  the  photograph  of  a  fire-cracker  label  with 
the  delirium  tremens.  He  set  the  clock  down,  and  in 
loud  tones  called  upon  the  passers-by  to  pause,  as  he 
was  about  to  make  a  sacrifice  that  would  break  the 
heart  of  the  oldest  horologer  living.  He  was  going  to 
sell  that  clock,  he  said.  An  old  family  heirloom,  and 
a  genuine  curiosity  of  antiquity,  which  he  would  not 
ordinarily  take  thousands  of  dollars  for,  but  which  he 
sold  now  because  he  was  out  of  work,  penniless;  and 
when  his  wife  and  children  cried  to  him  for  bread,  he 
could  not  say  them  nay  when  he  had  that  in  his 
possession  that  would,  in  any  intelligent  community, 
bring   them    food    and    plenty. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "look  at  that  clock.  A  relic 
of  antiquity.  One  of  the  oldest  Chinese  clepsydras  in 
the  world.  Bamboo  case  and  sandal-wood  running  gear. 
Not  an  ounce  of  metal  in  its  construction.  Made  in 
China  by  the  eminent  horologer  Tchin  Pitshoo,  as  near 
as  can  be  ascertained,  three  hundred  years  after  the 
flood.  Worth  a  thousand  dollars  if  it's  worth  a  cent; 
but  of  course  I  don't  expect  to  get  half  its  value  in  these 
hard  times.     The  inscription  on  the  face  is  in  the  char- 


130  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

acters  of  the  purest  Confucian  Chinese,  and  the  interpre- 
tation of  them  is,  "  Time  flies  and  money  is  twelve  per 
cent,"  Now  what  are  you  going  to  give  me  for  that 
clock?  Who  will  buy  this  clock,  and  present  it  to  the 
Iowa  Historical  Society  or  the  Burlington  Library?  How 
much?  Start  her  up;  send  her  ahead  at  something, 
gentlemen;  there's  a  woman  and  five  children  that  haven't 
had  a  bite  to  eat  for  two  days,  and  can't  get  a  crumb  till 
the  money  for  this  clock  is  in  my  pocket.  A  marvelous 
time-piece;  never  lost " 

A  man  in  brown  overalls  and  a  dirty  face  lounged  up 
to  the  clock,  and  after  scratching  the  case  with  a  pin,  to 
assure  himself  that  it  was  really  a  genuine  Chinese  clep- 
sydra, bid  ten  cents. 

'*Ten  cents!"  roared  the  man,  rolling  his  eyes — 
"Heaven,  hold  back  your  lightnings!  Don't  strike  him 
dead  just  yet!  Give  him  time  to  repent.  Ten  cents  to 
buy  food  for  a  starving  woman  and  five  children.     Ten 

cents  for  a  d "     He  choked  with  emotion,  and  could 

not  go  on  for  a  moment.  "  Ten  cents !  Why,  that  clock 
only  has  to  be  wound  once  a  month,  and  it  records  every 
minute  of  time;  tells  just  how  long  it  will  take  you  to 
get  to  the  depot;  tells  when  the  train  starts,  and  when 
the  children  are  late  to  school.  This  clock,  gentlemen, 
will  tell  when  the  oldest  boy  has  played  hookey  and  gone 
off  fishing;  it  tells  how  late  the  hired  girl's  beau  stays 
Sunday  night,  and  it  will  register  the  exact  minute  of  our 
oldest  daughter's  arrival  and  departure  at  and  from  the 
front  gate  after  ten  o'clock  at  night.  Why,  after  you've 
had  it  six  weeks,  you'll  not  take  six  hundred  dollars  for 
it.  It  runs  fast  all  day  and  slow  all  night,  giving  a  man 
fourteen  hours'  sleep  in  the  Winter  and  sixteen  hours' 
sleep  in  the  Summer,  without  disturbing  the  accurate 
average  of  the  day  a  minute.    Ten  cents  for  such  a  clock 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I3  I 

as  that!  Ten  cents!  Gentlemen,  this  is  robbery;  it's 
cold-blooded  murder.  At  ten  cents;  at  ten,  at  ten,  atten, 
atten,  attenat-tennit-tennit-tennet-tenatenatenaten  a-a-t 
ten  cents  only  am  I  offered,  twenty  do  I  hear?    At  ten — " 

An  old  rag  man,  after  a  critical  examination  of  the 
marvel,  bid  fifteen  cents,  and  was  instantly  regarded  as  a 
mortal  enemy  by  the  first  bidder. 

"Fifteen  cents!  "  exclaimed  the  seller.  "Gentlemen, 
knock  me  down  and  rob  me  of  my  clothes,  strip  me  naked 
if  you  will,  but  don't  plunder  a  gasping,  starving  woman 
and  five  weak,  helpless  babes.  Don't  rob  the  dying. 
Fifteen  cents.  Why,  I've  suffered  more  than  three  hun- 
dred dollars'  worth  of  privation  and  sorrow  and  misery, 
rather  than  sell  this  clock  at  all.  Fifteen  cents.  Why, 
you  set  that  clock  where  the  sun  shines  on  it.  and  it  will 
indicate  a  rain  storm  three  days  in  advance,  and^will  tell 
where  the  lightning  is  going  to  strike.  Why,  you  could 
make  millions  by  buying  this  clock  to  bet  on.  It  will  tell, 
just  three  weeks  before  election,  who  is  going  to  beat. 
It's  a  credit  to  any  household,  and  will  run  the  whole 
family  on  tick.  Fifteen  cents!  why,  it  won't  pay  for  the 
shelf  you  stand  it  on.  Fifteen  cents  for  a  clock  that 
used  to  be  owned  by  an  emperor!  Fifteen  cents.  Oh, 
kill  me  dead.  At  fifteen  cents,  fifteen,  fiftn,  fiftn,  fift, 
nfift,  nfift,  nfiftnfiftnfift,  ta-a-a-t  fifteen  cents  for  a  clock 
that  can't  be  duplicated  this  side  of  the  Yang  tse  Kiang. 
At  fifteen  ce — thank  you  sir,  twenty  cents  I  have;  twenty 
cents  to  feed  a  starving  family  of  seven  souls;  twenty 
cents  for  a  barefooted  woman  and  five  ragged  children 
that  haven't  tasted  food  since  Monday  morning;  twenty 
cents,  from  a  city  of  thirty  thousand  inhabitants,  for  a 
starving  family;  there's  Christian  philanthropy  for  you. 
Twenty  cents  from  the  commercial  capital  of  Iowa,  for  a 
clock  that  would  be  snapped   up  anywhere  else  in  the 


132  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

world  at  hundreds,  merely  for  its  antiquity;  there's  intel- 
ligent appreciation  of  the  arts  and  culture  for  you. 
Gentlemen,  I  can't  stand  this  much  longer;  my  heart  is 
breaking.  Twenty  cents,  twenty  cents,  twenty,  twent, 
twen,  twen,  twentwentwen,  and  sold — a  thousand -dollar 
clock,  starving  woman,  dying  children,  heart  -  broken  man, 
and  all  to  the  second-hand-store  man  for  twenty  cents." 

He  took  his  money,  a  ragged  shinplaster  and  two  street 
car  nickels,  an^  walked  away  with  a  dejected,  heart- 
broken air.  He  stopped' in  at  a  bakery  with  frosted  win- 
dows and  transient  doors,  to  buy  bread  for  his  starving 
wife  and  babes,  and  his  voice  was  husky  with  emotion  as 
he  said  to  the  natty-looking  baker,  whose  diamond  pin 
glittered  over  the  walnut  counter, 

"Gimme  a  plain  sour." 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   THE   CARPET. 


BASKING  in  peace,  in  the  warm  Spring  sun. 
South  Hill  smiled  upon  Burlington. 

The  breath  of  May !  and  the  day  was  fair. 
And  the  bright  motes  danced  in  the  balmy  air, 

And  the  sunlight  gleamed  where  the  restless    breeze 
Kissed  the  fragrant  blooms  on  the  apple  trees. 

His  beardless  cheek  with  a  smile  was  spanned 
As  he  stood  with  a  carriage-whip  in  his  hand. 

And  he  laughed  as  he  doffed  his  bob-tailed  coat. 
And  the  echoing  folds  of  the  carpet  smote. 


KOMiVKCE  <)1'   lllK  CAltPET. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  133 

And  she  smiled  as  she  leaned  on  her  busy  mop, 
And  said  she  would  tell  him  when  to  stop. 

So  he  pounded  away  till  the  dinner  bell 
Gave  him  a  little  breathing  spell. 

But  he  sighed  when  the  kitchen  clock  struck  one ; 
And  she  said  the  carpet  wasn't  done. 

But  he  lovingly  put  in  his  biggest  licks, 

And  pounded  like  mad  till  the  clock  struck  six. 

And  she  said,  in  a  dubious  kind  of  way. 

That  she  guessed  he  could  finish  it  up  next  day. 

Then  all  that  day,  and  the  next  day  too, 
The  fuzz  from  the  dustless  carpet  flew. 

And  she'd  give  it  a  look  at  eventide, 
And  say,  "  Now  beat  on  the  other  side." 

And  the  new  days  came  as  the  old  days  went, 
And  the  landlord  came  for  his  regular  rent. 

And  the  neighbors  laughed  at  the  tireless  boom. 
And  his  face  was  shadowed  with  clouds  of  gloom; 

Till  at  last,  one  cheerless  Winter  day, 
He  kicked  at  the  carpet  and  slid  away. 

Over  the  fence  and  down  the  street. 
Speeding  away  with  footsteps  fleet ; 

And  never  again  the  morning  sun 
Smiled  at  him  beating  his  carpet  drum ; 
10 


34  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

And  South  Hill  often  said,  with  a  yawn, 
"  Where  has  the  carpet  martyr  gone  ? " 


Years  twice  twenty  had  come  and  passed, 
And  the  carpet  swayed  in  the  autumn  blast; 

For  never  yet,  since  that  bright  spring  time, 
Had  it  ever  been  taken  down  from  the  line. 

Over  the  fence  a  gray-haired  man 
Cautiously  dim,  dome,  clem,  clum,  clam; 

He  found  him  a  stick  in  the  old  woodpile. 
And  he  gathered  it  up  with  a  sad,  grim  smile. 

A  flush  passed  over  his  face  forlorn 

As  he  gazed  at  the  carpet,  tattered  and  torn; 

And  he  hit  it  a  most  resounding  thwack. 
Till  the  startled  air  gave  its  echoes  back. 

And  out  of  the  window  a  white  face  leaned, 
And  a  palsied  hand  the  sad  eyes  screened. 

She  knew  his  face — she  gasped,  she  sighed: 
A  little  more  on  the  under  side." 

Right  down  on  the  ground  his  stick  he  throwed, 
And  he  shivered  and  muttered,  "Well,  I  am  blowed!  " 

And  he  turned  away,  with  a  heart  full  sore, 
And  he  never  was  seen,  not  none  no  more. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  135 


SODDING  AS  A  FINE  ART. 


ONE  day,  early  in  the  Spring,  Mr.  Blosberg,  who 
lives  out  on  Ninth  Street,  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  sod  his  front  yard  himself,  and  when  he  had 
formed  this  public -spirited  resolution,  he  proceeded  to 
put  it  into  immediate  execution.  He  cut  his  sod,  in 
righteous  and  independent  and  liberty-loving  disregard 
of  the  ridiculous  city  ordinance  in  relation  thereto,  from 
the  patches  of  verdure  that  the  cows  had  permitted 
to  obtain  a  temporary  growth  along  the  side  of  the 
street,  and  proceeded  to  beautify  his  front  yard  there- 
with. Just  as  he  had  laid  the  first  sod,  Mr.  Thwackery, 
his   next  door  neighbor,  passed   by. 

"Good  land,  Blosberg,"  he  shouted,  "you'll  never  be 
able  to  make  any  thing  of  such  a  sod  as  that.  Why,  its 
three  inches  too  thick.  That  sod  will  cake  up  and  dry 
like  a  brick.  You  want  to  shave  at  least  two  inches  and 
a  half  off  the  bottom  of  it,  so  the  roots  of  the  grass  will 
grow  into  the  ground  and  unite  the  sod  with  the  earth. 
That  sod  is  thick  enough  for  a  corner  stone." 

So  Mr.  Blosberg  took  the  spade  and  shaved  the  sod 
down  until  it  was  thin  and  about  as  pliable  as  a  buck- 
wheat cake,  and  Mr.  Thwackery  pronounced  it  all  right 
and  sure  to  grow,  and  passed  on.  Just  as  Mr.  Blosberg 
got  it  laid  down  the  second  time,  old  Mr.  Templeton,  who 
lived  on  the  next  block,  came  along  and  leaned  on  the 
fence,  intently  observing  the  sodder's  movements. 

'•  Well  now,  Blosberg,**  he  said  at  length,  "  I  did  think 
you  had  better  sense  than  that.     Don't  you  know  a  sod 


136  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

will  never  grow  on  that  hard  ground?  You  must  spade 
it  all  up  first,  and  break  the  dirt  up  fine  and  soft  to  the 
depth  of  at  least  four  inches,  or  the  grass  can  never  take 
root  in  it.  Don't  waste  your  time  and  sod  by  putting 
grass  on  top  of  such  a  baked  brick-floor  as  that." 

And  Mr.  Blosberg  laid  aside  the  sod  and  took  up  the 
spade  and  labored  under  Mr.  Templeton's  directions 
until  the  ground  was  all  properly  prepared  for  the  sod, 
and  then  Mr,  Templeton,  telling  him  that  sod  couldn't 
die  on  that  ground  now  if  he  tried  to  kill  it,  went  his  way 
and  Mr.  Blosberg  picked  up  that  precious  sod  a  third 
time,  and  prepared  to  put  it  in  its  place.  Before  he  had 
fairly  poised  it  over  the  spot,  however,  his  hands  were 
arrested  by  a  terrific  shout,  and  looking  up  he  saw  Major 
Bladgers  shaking  his  cane  at  him  over  the  fence. 

"Blosberg,  you  insufferable  donkey,"  roared  the  Major, 
"  don't  you  know  that  you'll  lose  every  blade  of  grass 
you  can  carry  if  you  put  your  sod  on  that  dry  ground  ? 
There  you've  gone  and  cut  it  so  thin  that  all  the  roots 
of  the  grass  are  cut  and  bleeding,  and  you  must  soak 
that  ground  with  water  until  it  is  a  perfect  pulp,  so  that 
the  roots  will  sink  right  into  it,  and  draw  nutrition  from 
the  moist  earth.  Wet  her  down,  Blosberg,  if  you  want 
to  see  your  labor  result  in  any  thing." 

So  Mr.  Blosberg  put  the  sod  aside  again,  and  went  and 
pumped  water  and  carried  it  around  in  buckets  until  his 
back  ached  like  a  soft  corn,  and  when  he  had  finally 
transformed  the  front  yard  into  a  morass,  the  major  was 
satisfied,  and  assuring  Mr.  Blosberg  that  his  sod  would 
grow  beautifully  now,  even  if  he  laid  it  on  upside  down, 
marched  away,  and  Mr.  Blosberg  made  a  fourth  effort  to 
put  the  first  sod  in  its  place.  He  got  it  down  and  was 
going  back  after  another,  when  old  Mrs.  Tweedlebug 
checked  him  in  his  wild  career. 


AND    OIHER    HAWK  -  EVETE.Mi.  137 

"  Lawk,  Mr.  Blosberg,  ye  musn't  go  off  an'  leave  that 
sod  lying  that  way.  You  must  take  the  spade  and  beat 
it  down  hard,  till  it  is  all  flat  and  level,  and  close  to  the 
ground  everywhere.  You  must  pound  it  hard,  or  the 
weeds  will  all  start  up  under  it  and  crowd  out  the  grass." 

Mr.  Blosberg  went  back,  and  stooping  over  the  sod  hit 
it  a  resounding  thwack  with  his  spade  that  shot  great 
gouts  and  splotches  of  mud  all  over  the  parlor  windows 
and  half  way  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and  some  of  it 
came  flying  into  his  face  and  on  his  clothes,  while  a  mis- 
cellaneous shower  made  it  dangerous  even  for  his  adviser, 
who,  with  a  feeble  shriek  of  disapprobation,  went  hastily 
away,  digging  raw  mud  out  of  her  ears.  Mr.  Blosberg 
didn't  know  how  long  to  keep  on  pounding,  and  he  didn't 
see  Mrs.  Tweedlebug  go  away,  so  he  stood  with  his  spade 
poised  in  the  air  and  his  eyes  shut  tight,  waiting  for 
instructions.  And  as  he  waited  he  was  surprised  to  hear 
a  new  voice  accost  him.  It  was  the  voice  of  Mr,  Thistle- 
pod,  the  old  agriculturist,  of  whom  Mr.  Blosberg  bought 
his  apples  and  butter. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Blosberg!"  he  shouted,  in  tones  which 
indicated  that  he  either  believed  Mr.  Blosberg  to  be 
stone  deaf  or  two  thousand  miles  away. 

Mr.  Blosberg  winked  violently  to  get  the  soil  out  of 
his  eyes,  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  noise  to  say, 
"Good  evening." 

"  Soddin',  hey  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Thistlepod. 

"  Trying  to,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Blosberg,  rather  cautiously. 
\     "  'Spect  it  will  grow,  hey  ?  " 

Mr.  Blosberg,  having  learned  by  very  recent  experience 
how  liable  his  plans  were  to  be  overthrown,  was  still  non- 
committal, and  replied  that  "he  hoped  so." 

"  Wal,  if  ye  hope  so,  ye  mustn't  go  to  poundin'  yer  sod 
to  pieces  with  that  spade.     Ye  don't  want  to  ram  it  down 


138  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE 

SO  dad  hinged  tight  and  hard  there  can't  no  air  git  at  the 
roots.  Ye  must  shake  that  sod  up  a  little,  so  as  ^to 
loosen  it,  and  then  jest  press  it  down  with  yer  foot  ontwil 
it  jest  teches  the  ground  nicely  all  round.  Sod's  too 
thin,  anyhow." 

So  Mr.  Blosberg  thrust  his  hands  into  the  nasty  mud 
under  his  darling,  much  abused  sod,  and  spread  his 
fingers  wide  apart  to  keep  it  from  breaking  to  pieces  as 
he  raised  it,  and  finally  got  it  loosened  up  and  pressed 
down  to  Mr.  Thistlepod's  satisfaction,  who  then  told  him 
he  didn't  believe  he  could  make  that  sod  grow  any  way, 
and  drove  away.  Then  Mr.  Blosberg  stepped  back  to 
look  at  that  sod,  feeling  confident  that  he  had  got 
through  with  it,  when  young  Mr.  Simpson  came  alongx 

"Hello,  Blosj  old  boy  ;  watchu  doin'.?  " 

Mr.  Blosberg  timorously  answered  that  he  was  sodding 
a  little.  Then  Mr.  Simpson  pressed  his  lips  very  tightly 
together  to  repress  a  smile,  and  let  his  cheeks  swell  and 
bulge  out  to  the  size  of  toy  balloons  with  suppressed 
merriment,  and  finally  burst  into  a  snort  of  derisive 
laughter  that  made  the  windows  rattle  in  the  houses  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  and  he  went  on,  leaving  Mr. 
Blosberg  somewhat  nettled  and  a  little  discouraged.  He 
stood,  with  his  fingers  spread  wide  apart,  holding  his 
arms  out  like  wings,  and  wondering  whether  he  had 
better  go  get  another  sod  or  go  wash  his  hands,  when  a 
policeman  came  by,  and  paused.  "  Soddin'  ?  "  he  asked, 
sententiously. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  little,"  replied   Mr.  Blosberg,  respectfully. 

"  Where 'd  you  get  your  sod  .''  "  inquired  the  representa- 
tive of  public  order. 

Mr.  Blosberg  dolefully  indicated  the  little  bare  paral- 
lelogram in  the  scanty  patch  of  verdure  as  his  base  of 
supplies. 


AND  OTHER  H AWK  -  EYETEMS.  I39 

"  You're  the  man  I've  been  lookin'  for,"  replied  public 
order.     ''You  come  along  with  me." 

And  Mr.  Blosberg  went  along,  and  the  Police  Judge 
fined  him  $ii  95,  and  when  Mr.  Blosberg  got  home  he 
found  that  a  cow  had  got  into  his  yard  during  his  absence 
and  stepped  on  that  precious  sod  five  times,  and  put  her 
foot  clear  through  it  every  time,  so  that  it  looked  like  a 
patch  of  moss  rolled  up  in  a  wad,  more  than  a  sod.  And 
then  Mr.  Blosberg  fell  on  his  knees  and  raised  his  hands 
to  heaven,  and  registered  a  vow  that  he  would  never 
plant  another  sod  if  this  whole  fertile  world  turned  into 
a  Sahara  for  want  of  his  aid. 


THE  AMENITIES   OF   POLITICS. 


THERE  is  one  thing,"  said  Mr.  Leatherby,  as  he 
was  walking  down  town  one  drizzling,  disagree- 
able morning  during  the  last  presidential  campaign, 
"  that  disgusts  me  with  politics,  and  that  is,  the  violent 
and  abusive  tone  in  which  our  daily  papers  conduct  the 
discussion  of  every  issue  and  question  which  they  touch 
upon." 

"  Indeed  you  may  well  be  disgusted  at  it,"  replied  old 
Mr.  Bartholomew,  who  had  just  joined  him.  "  It  is  as 
much  as  a  man  can  do  to  lift  a  newspaper  off  his  door 
step  with  a  pair  of  tongs.  Time  and  again  I  throw  the 
paper  down  half  read,  and  I  have  seriously  thought  of 
stopping  it  altogether,  for  I  consider  its  presence  in  my 
family  a  contamination." 

"It  is,  in  truth,"  replied  Mr.  Leatherby;  "it  is  worse 


I40  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

than  a  contammation.  It  is  corrupting;  it  has  a  degrad- 
ing, brutalizing  influence,  that  is,  I  am  convinced,  under- 
mining the  foundations  of  our  moral  structure.  The  daily 
press  of  to-day  is  one  great  engine  of  abuse,  defamation, 
bad  grammar,  worse  language  and  worst  morals." 

"  I  can  not  see,  for  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Bartholomew, 
"why  men  can  not  discuss  politics  as  freely,  as  earnestly, 
and  as  entirely  free  from  acrimonious  expressions  and 
feeling,  as  purely  exempt  from  abusive  language  of  any 
kind,  from  any  heat  and  anger,  in  fact,  as  they  could 
discuss  the  grade  of  a  street  or  the  style  of  a  coat." 

"And  so  think  I,"  said  Mr.  Leatherby.  "  I  can  not, 
for  my  part,  conceive  of  an  intellect  so  warped  and  nar- 
row, a  mind  so  shallow,  that  it  can  not  carry  on  a  discus- 
sion upon  any  question  in  politics  without  falling  into  the 
asperities,  vulgarity,  abusive  detraction,  and  shameful 
slander  that  is  the  reproach  and  disgrace  of  the  newspa- 
per press." 

"It  is  a  form  of  idiocy,  I  believe,"  replied  old  Mr. 
Bartholomew.  "  It  is  an  indication  of  a  feeble  mind  that 
looks  upon  abuse  as  an  argument,  and  bullying  as  logic. 
I  am  and  always  have  been  a  Republican,  but  I  can 
express  my  disapproval  of  many  Democratic  measures  in 
a  gentlemanly  manner;  and  if  I  had  not  mind  enough  to 
keep  my  temper,  I  would  consider  that  I  had  no  right  to 
talk  politics." 

"You  are  perfectly  correct,"  rejoined  Mr.  Leatherby, 
earnestly;  "and  while  we  disagree  on  some  points  in 
political  controversy,  I  being  a  life-long  Democrat,  yet  we 
can  freely  and  with  mutual  pleasure,  and,  I  trust,  profit, 
meet  and  discuss  our  differences  in  a  friendly  way,  with- 
out giving  way  to  the  insane  and  detestable  exhibition 
of  temper,  ignorance,  and  prejudice  which  marks  the  tone 
of  the  morning  paper." 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  141 

"  I  had  not  noticed  it  so  much  in  the  Hawkeye"  replied 
Mr.  Bartholomew,  with  a  show  of  awakening  interest  in 
the  conversation ;  "  but  when  that  trashy  Democratic  sheet 
that  pollutes  the  evening  air  is  brought  to  me  by  my 
neighbor,  an  ignorant  dolt  who  can  neither  read  nor  write, 
but  takes  the  paper  as  a  party  duty,  and  asks  me  to  read 
it  for  him,  I  am  amazed  that  the  gods  of  truth  and 
decency  do  not  annihilate  the  infamous,  puerile  sheet 
with  their  thunderbolts." 

"  You  must  bear  in  mind,  however,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Leatherby,  speaking  a  trifle  louder  than  was  necessary  in 
addressing  a  companion  whose  hand  was  resting  on  his 
arm,  "  the  Gazette  has  such  a  tide  of  corruption,  such  an 
avalanche  of  political  bigotry  and  villainy  to  rebuke,  that 
its  voice  must  be  raised  in  order  to  be  heard:  and  it  must 
speak  boldly,  defiantly,  and  in  the  thunder  tones  of 
righteous  denunciation,  to  startle  the  people  into  a  real- 
izing sense  of  the  peril  which  threatens  the  country  from 
Republican  misrule  and  tyranny." 

"  By  George  ! "  shouted  Mr.  Bartholomew,  *'  the  Repub- 
lican party  is  the  last,  the  only  bulwark  between  the 
republic  and  eternal  ruin.  I  tell  you,  sir,  once  let  the 
Democratic  party  obtain  control  of  this  government,  once 
let  that  infamous  organization  of  political  thieves,  knucks, 
outlaws,  and  castaways  take  charge  of  our  political 
machinery,  and  we  will  find  ourselves  in  the  hands  of  a 
horde  of  the  most  abandoned  profligates,  the  most  utterly 
unprincipled,  the  most  vicious,  demoralized,  unconscion- 
able, diabolical  set  of  scoundrels  that  ever  cheated  the 
gallows." 

"  By  the  long-horned  spoon !  "  roared  Mr.  Leatherby, 
jerking  his  arm  away  from  Mr.  Bartholomew's  hand;  "if 
the  Satanic  and  infernal  plans  of  the  Republican  party 
were  carried  out,  with   all   their  attendant  knavery  and 


142  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

debauchery,  this  government  would  be  a  rule  of  branded 
malefactors  and  convicts,  a  government  of  felons,  a  penal 
colony  in  which  the  most  hopelessly  irreclaimable,  grace- 
less villains  would  administer  the  law.  The  bad  faith 
of  the  Republican  party,  its  ignominious  record,  its  vicious 
tendencies,  has  shocked  the  Christian  world,  and " 

"You're  a  liar!"  yelled  Mr,  Bartholomew,  "and  you 
are  jusc  like  the  rest  of  your  besotted,  low-lived,  ignorant 
class — a  low,  mean,  pitiful,  beggarly,  unscrupulous  and 
treacherous  set,  whose  impudence  in  asking  for  the  votes 
of  honorable  men  is  only  equaled  by  your  rapacious  and 
unbridled  greed  for  office;  your " 

"You  are  an  old  fool!"  howled  Mr.  Leatherby;  "a 
censorious,  clamorous,  scurrilous,  foul-tongued  old  repro- 
bate, and  I  disgrace  my  name  when  I  talk  to  you  on  the 
street.  You  mistake  vituperation  and  abuse  for  argument, 
and  you  reply  to  a  simple  plain  statement  of  facts  with 
malignant  and  defamatory  slander  and  calumny,  because 
you  can't  answer." 

"Shut  up!"  shrieked  Mr,  Bartholomew.  "  Don't  you 
say  another  word  to  me,  or  I'll  slap  your  ugly  mouth! 
By  George,  I'll  kick  your  head  off! " 

"  You  can't  do  it !  "  roared  Mr,  Leatherby,  pulling  off 
his  coat,  and  dancing  around  Mr,  Bartholomew.  "  I  can 
lick  the  whole  Republican  party,  from  the  big  whisky  thief 
and  ring  master  in  the  White  House  down  to  the  sneak 
thief  that  picks  pockets  at   mass  meetings  !     I  can " 

"You're  a  fighting  liar,  and  you  daren't  take  it  up  !  " 
howled  Mr.  Bartholomew,  pulling  off  his  coat. 

Then  Mr.  Leatherby  ran  up  and  kicked  him  twice 
while  he  was  struggling  in  the  arms  of  his  coat,  but  the 
old  gentleman  got  loose  in  a  flash  and  hit  Mr.  Leatherby 
a  resounding  thwack  on  the  nose  with  his  cane,  and  when 
Mr.  Leatherby  stopped  to  hold   a  handkerchief  over  his 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS,  143 

bleeding  proboscis,  Mr.  Bartholomew  got  in  a  couple  more 
real  good  ones  with  his  cane;  then  Mr.  Leatherby  went 
for  the  rocks  in  the  macadamized  street.  He  broke  two 
windows  in  a  grocery  before  he  hit  Mr.  Bartholomew, 
when  he  caught  the  old  gentleman  on  the  side  of  the 
head  and  dropped  him.  Then  Mr.  Bartholomew  took  to 
the  stone  pile  and  hit  a  young  lady  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  and  Mr.  Leatherby  hurled  a  tremendous  big 
rock,  which  missed  the  old  gentleman  and  blacked  the 
eye  of  a  policeman  who  was  coming  to  separate  them, 
but  was  so  incensed  that  he  arrested  them,  and  they  were 
each  fined  $[o  and  costs  for  fighting  in  the  street.  And 
they  both  firmly  believe  that  the  unbridled  hatred  and 
unreasonable  recriminations  and  abuse  of  the  daily 
papers  are  iniquitous  in  their  influence,  and  should  be 
suppressed  for  the  good  of  society. 


It  was  a  sad  scene  when  the  authorities  took  a  pooi 
man  from  Happy  Hollow,  and  sent  him  out  to  the  poor 
house.  The  parting  between  the  poor  man  and  his 
eleven  dogs,  which  he  distributed  among  his  sympathiz- 
ing relatives,  was  affecting  in  the  extreme.  We  believe 
the  man  had  a  few  children,  too,  but  not  enough  to  make 
a  fuss  about. 

A  BASHFUL  young  man,  while  out  driving  with  the 
dearest  girl  in  the  world,  had  to  get  out  and  buckle  the 
crupper,  and  hesitatingly  exclaimed  that  "  the  animal's 
bustle  had  come  loose.'* 


144  l^ISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


A  THRILLING    ENCOUNTER. 


IT  happens,  once  in  a  while,  that  even  the  ordinary 
routine  of  the  editorial  sanctum  is  broken  by  incidents 
and  scenes  that  are  fairly  dramatic  in  their  character. 
As  we  write,  there  comes  back  to  us  the  reminiscence  of 
a  quiet,  sleepy  Summer  afternoon,  only  a  few  short  years 
ago.  The  very  flies  in  the  sanctum  buzzed  lazily  about 
the  room,  oppressed  by  the  heat  and  the  quiet  loneliness 
of  the  place,  when  the  door  opened  with  a  quick,  sudden 
snap,  and  we  turned  and  saw  a  woman  stepping  into  the 
room.  She  was  not  old,  and  her  face,  haggard  with  care 
and  seamed  with  trouble,  still  bore  traces  of  great  beauty. 
She  came  into  the  office  with  a  quick,  nervous  tread,  and 
there  was  a  hunted  look  in  her  eyes  that  betrayed  the 
fugitive.  She  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  turned  the 
key  in  almost  the  same  motion,  with  the  quick  instinctive 
manner  of  a  person  who  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
isolating  herself  from  observation  and  pursuit  at  every 
opportunity.     She  refused  to  sit  down,  but  said: 

"  I  can  tell  you  all  you  will  want  to  know  about  me  in 
very  few  words — I  am  a  fugitive." 

We  told  her  we  had  guessed  as  much,  and  we  besought 
her  to  confide  nothing  to  us.  We  could  not  help  her,  we 
said;  our  duty  as  a  journalist  would  not  permit  us  to 
extend  any  aid  to  a  person  flying  from  the  law.  She 
said: 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  aid  me  in  farther  flight;  I  am 
tired  to  death.  My  own  conscience,  more  pitiless  than 
the  minions  of  the  law,  has  pursued  me  for  years  with  a 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  145 

whip  of  scorpions.  I  can  not  escape  its  terrible  lashings. 
I  can  not  fly  from  my  punishment  if  I  would,  and  I  am 
anxious  it  should  be  over.  Death  would  be  a  welcome 
relief,  if  it  would  but  come.'* 

Again  we  told  the  panting,  weary  creature  to  tell  none 
of  her  story  to  us,  and  advised  her  to  go  to  the  police 
headquarters  and  give  herself  into  the  hands  of  the  law, 
which  would  deal  justly,  and,  we  had  no  doubt,  in  view 
of  her  sufferings  and  remorse,  mercifully  with  her. 

"I  can  not!"  she  exclaimed,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  breaking  into  convulsive  sobs :  "  I 
can  not,  I  can  not.  You  do  not  know  there  are  other 
hearts  would  ache  if  I.  gave  myself  up  and  told  all.  I 
want  to  tell  my  story  to  some  one  who  will  pity  me  and 
advise  me.  There  are  those  whose  hands  are  as  dark 
with  ineffaceable  stains  as  mine  are,  but  who  do  not  suffer 
the  mental  agony  that  oppresses  me.  Shall  I,  in  order 
to  escape  the  lashings  of  my  own  conscience,  consign 
these,  whose  lives  are  happy  and  whose  hearts  know  no 
remorse,  to  the  same  punishment  for  which  I  yearn.'*" 

We  asked  her  (for  our  curiosity  conquered  our  caution) 
if  it  was  possible  that  one  so  young  and  fair  was  the 
center  of  a  wide-spreading  circle  of  crime  that  held  in 
its  horrid  entanglements  so  many  others  beside  herself.-* 

"Aye,"  she  said,  bitterly.  "If  I  went  to  the  gallows 
through  a  court  of  justice,  I  would  lead  with  me,  held  by 
the  same  terrible  links  of  evidence,  a  guilty  train  of  men 
hardened  in  crime,  and  their  hands  steeped  in  innocent 
blood!" 

"Woman,  woman!"  we  exclaimed,  in  horrified  tones, 
"in  the  name  of  heaven,  who  and  what  are  you?" 

"Oh,  heaven  help  me!"  she  shrieked,  in  a  voice  that 
chilled  our  marrow — "I  am  old  man  Bender!" 

A  weird,  wild  whooD  rent  the  silence  of  the  sanctum — 


146  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

and  the  woman  was  alone.  There  was  a  sound  as  of  a 
rising  journalist  scrambling  up  through  the  narrow  copy 
tube,  and  the  next  instant  a  bare  head,  with  a  quill  over 
one  ear,  burst  through  the  hatchway  in  the  roof,  and, 
followed  by  a  complete  set  of  editorial  anatomy,  emerged, 
and  running  briskly  to  the  rear  wall  of  the  building, 
disappeared  down  the  lightning-rod,  and  was  seen  no 
more  until  the  next  day  at  three  P.  M. 

We  never  saw  the  woman  again,  and  wis  not  where 
she  is,  but  we  smile  in  bitter  derision  whenever  we  read 
that  the  police  have  arrested  an  old  man  answering  the 
description  of  old  man  Bender. 


FIVE    WOMEN. 


ONE  afternoon  five  women  went  out  on  South  Hill  in 
a  street  car.  One  of  them  was  a  fat  woman  in  a 
black  dress,  with  a  cameo  pin  as  large  as  a  stucco  orna- 
ment. She  breathed  at  a  high  pressure,  about  103  to  the 
minute.  A  woman  with  a  thin,  long  neck,  and  sad  eyes, 
and  a  Paisley  shawl,  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  car, 
said,  in  a  feeble  voice : 

•'Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Waughop.'' 

"Oh,  (puff)  Mrs.  Dresseldorff,  ( puff,  puff,)  how  do 
(puff)  you  do.^"     (Puff,  puff.) 

^*  Oh,  I  ain't  feeling  well  at  all.  I've  had  so  much 
trouble  with  my  lungs,  and  nothing  seems  to  do  them 
any  good.  I've  tried  onion  gargle,  and  three  kinds  of 
expectorant,  and  Wine  of  Tar,  and  two  of  Doctor 
Bolus's  prescriptions,  and  one  of  Dr.   Bleadem's,  and  a 


GOBLIN  GATE. 


See  page  148. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I47 

new  kind  of  ointment,  but  nothing  seems  to  have  any 
effect  on  them.     How  do  you  feel  to-day  ?  *' 

"  Oh,"  groaned  Mrs.  Waughop,  "  I'm  not  getting  on  at 
all.  My  asthma  is  worse  every  day  (puff,  puff),  and  I 
can't  sleep  at  night,  and  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  give  up 
entirely  (puff,  puff).  I  could  hardly  get  out  to-day 
(  puff,  puff,  puff).  I  went  to  Greenbaum  and  Schroder's 
and  around  to  Guest's  and  down  to  Carpenter's  (  puff, 
puff),  and  into  Parsons'  and  up  to  Mrs.  Voorhees'  (puff, 
puff),  and  down  to  Wyman's  and  up  to  Wesley  Jones' 
and  into  Gus  Dodge's  and  (puff,  puff,  puff)  down  to  the 
express  office,  and  then  by  the  time  I  had  made  a  couple 
of  calls  out  on  North  Hill  and  went  to  the  doctor's,  I 
was  as  tired  as  though  I  had  walked  a  mile  (  puff,  puff, 
puff).  I  don't  know  what's  going  to  become  of  me,  I'm 
sure.  How  are  you,  this  afternoon,  Mrs.  Dinkleman  .'*  " 
she  continued,  turning  to  the  next  woman,  a  lonesome 
looking  female  with  a  wart  on  her  chin,  who  smiled  dis- 
mally on  being  addressed  and  paused  in  the  midst  of  a 
search  for  a  street  car  nickel  in  the  bottom  of  a  black 
reticule  as  big  as  a  hair  trunk. 

"  I'm  about  half  down  with  the  chills,"  she  said,  with 
a  prolonged  sigh ;  "  I  have  such  a  fever  every  night,  I 
don't  get  two  hours'  sleep  out  of  the  twenty -four,  and 
I'm  afraid  I'll  be  down  sick  before  I  get  through  with  it. 
My  eyesight  is  failing,  too,  and  I  have  a  constant  head- 
ache that  worries  me  nearly  to  death.  I  am  glad,  Mrs. 
Mulligan,"  said  Mrs.  Dinkleman,  turning  to  the  fourth 
woman,  *'to  see  you  able  to  be  out." 

Mrs.  Mulligan  bowed  feebly  to  the  rest  of  the  ladies. 
"Indeed  I  oughtn't  to  be  out,"  she  groaned,  "  I  ought  to 
be  in  bed  this  minute.  I  haven't  had  this  flannel  off  my 
throat  for  three  weeks,  and  I'm  afraid  I'll  lose  my  voice 
entirely.  I've  had  a  misery  across  my  back  since  I  don't 
II 


148  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

know  when,  and  I  had  to  have  three  teeth  pulled  this 
blessed  afternoon.  I  was  that  bad  with  the  rheumatiz 
all  last  week  I  didn't  dare  stir  out  of  the  house,  and  I've 
got  a  felon  coming  on  my  finger  just  as  sure  as  I'm  a  liv- 
ing woman.  What  appears  to  be  the  matter  with  your 
face,  Mrs.  Gallagher  ?  "  she  asked  the  last  woman  in  the 
car. 

"  Neuralagy  of  the  eyes,"  the  last  woman,  who  wore 
black  glasses  and  green  goggles,  remarked,  in  such 
lugubrious  tones  that  they  cast  a  gloom  over  the  entire 
community,  and  the  masculine  occupants  of  the  car 
wondered  if  there  was  a  well  woman  in  America. 


THE   GOBLIN   GATE. 


WE  once  knew  a  most  worthy  man,  whose  irreproach- 
able life  was  at  one  time  threatened  with  mental 
and  physical  wreck,  all  on  account  of  his  front  gate.  He 
lived  out  on  North  Hill,  with  his  charming  wife  and  seven 
lovely  daughters.  He  was  a  pale-faced,  anxious-looking 
man,  who  moved  about  and  looked  and  spoke  as  though 
he  supped  with  sorrow  seven  times  a  week.  He  has, 
with  all  those  seven  lovely  daughters,  only  one  front  gate, 
and  that's  what  made  him  pale.  In  one  Summer  he 
spent  $217  repairing  that  front  gate — putting  in  new  ones, 
and  experimenting  with  various  kinds  of  hinges;  and 
after  all  that,  the  gate  swung  all  through  the  Winter  on 
a  leather  strap  and  a  piece  of  clothes-line — and  there 
was  peace  in  the  household,  and  the  man  grew  fat.  But 
when  the  April  days  were  nigh,  it  soon  became  apparent 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I49 

to  the  man  that  his  troubles  were  at  hand,  and  anxiety 
soon  drove  the  roses  from  his  damask  cheeks  and  robbed 
his  ribs  of  their  substance.  He  used  to  climb  over  the 
back  fence,  to  avoid  calling  attention  to  the  disreputable 
looking  old  gate;  but  his  self-denial  was  of  no  avail. 
One  evening  his  eldest  daughter,  Sophronia,  said : 

"  Pa,  that  horrid  old  gate  is  the  most  disgusting  thing 
on  Fifth  Street.  If  you  can't  afford  to  have  it  fixed,  I'd 
take  it  away  and  put  up  a  stile." 

And  pa  only  groaned.  But  an  evening  or  so  later,  his 
youngest  daughter,  Elfrida,  came  in  and  said,  with  con- 
siderable warmth : 

"Pa!  1  wish  you  had  that  beastly  Old  gate  tied  to  your 
neck;  that's  what  I  wish!" 

And  she  dissolved  in  tears,  and  evaporated  up  stairs 
in  a  misty  cloud,  while  her  sisters  followed  slowly,  casting 
reproachful  glances  at  pa.  And  the  next  evening,  his 
third  daughter,  Azalea,  came  bouncing  into  the  room, 
about  9:  30  P.  M.,  with  her  gloves  in  a  condition  to  indi- 
cate that  she  had  been  patting  gravel,  and  said,  with 
some  energy,  that  if  pa  had  nO  feeling,  other  people  had; 
and  she  wished  she  was  dead,  she  did;  and  she  hoped 
that  the  next  time  pa  went  out  of  that  hateful  old  gate, 
he'd  fall  clear  from  Fifth  Street  to  the  bridge,  so  she  did. 
And  she  broke  down,  and  disappeared  with  a  staccato 
accompaniment  of  sobs  and  sniffles.  And  the  next  time  pa 
went  out  of  that  gate,  he  found  it  prostrate  between  the 
two  posts,  and  saw  that  the  fragile  strands  of  the  clothes- 
line had  parted,  under  some  extraordinary  pressure;  and 
that  was  what  ailed  Azalea's  gloves.  Pa  saw  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  a  new  gate,  and  he  groaned  aloud  as  he 
viewed  the  dreary  prospect  of  furnishing  gates  to  support 
the  manly  forms  of  the  best  young  men  of  Burlington  for 
another  Summer.     It  soon  became  evident  that  he  was 


150  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

getting  up  a  gate  he  could  match  against  time.  He 
pondered,  and. pondered,  and  pondered.  He  became  the 
confidant  of  carpenters;  he  was  often  seen  guiltily 
showing  certain  plans  and  drawings  to  blacksmiths  and 
cunning  workers  in  iron  and  steel.  And  in  due  time  he 
had  a  new  gate  up;  a  massive  gate,  with  great  posts, 
ornamental  and  substantial  — and  the  seven  sisters  were 
pleased.  They  read  the  little  brass  plate,  that  informed 
them  that  a  patent  was  applied  for,  and  they  saw  the 
words,  "For  130  pounds;"  but  they  didn't  know  what 
it  meant  until  the  gate  had  swung  on  the  uneven  tenor 
of  its  way  about  a  week. 

One  evening,  the  weather,  though  sufficiently  cool  to 
be  bracing,-  admitted  a  test  of  the  new  gate.  A  murmur 
of  voices  arose  from  the  vicinity  of  that  popular  lovers' 
retreat,  as  Sophronia  swung  idly  to  and  fro  on  its  heavy 
frame.  Presently,  a  pale-faced,  anxious-looking  man, 
who  was  holding  his  hand  upon  his  breast  to  still  his 
beating  heart,  as  he  crouched  in  a  dark  corner  of  the 
porch,  heard  Rodolphus  say: 

"But  believe  me,  Sophronia,  my  own  heart's  idol, 
between  the  touches  of  the  rude  hand  of  time  and  the 

unkind "     As  he  began  the  word,  he  leaned  forward 

and  bent  his  weight  upon  the  gate,  and  with  a  sharp  click 
a  little  trap-door  in  the  side  of  the  post  flew  open,  and  a 
gaunt,  many-jointed  arm  of  steel,  with  an  iron  knob  as 
big  as  a  Virginia  gourd  on  the  end  of  it,  flew  out, 
and,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  hit  Rodolphus  two 
resounding  pelts  between  the  shoulders,  that  sounded 
like  a  bass  drum  explosion. 

"Oh-h-h!  gosh!"  he  roared,  "I'm  stabbed!  I'm 
stabbed!"  and,  without  waiting  to  pick  up  his  hat,  fled, 
shrieking  for  the  doctor;  while  Sophronia  rushed  into  the 
house,  crying,    "Pa!  pa!  pa!    Rodolphus  is  shot!"   and 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I5I 

swooned.  The  pale-faced  man  said  nothing,  but  shrank 
still  further  back  into  the  shadow,  and  thrust  his  hand- 
kerchief into  his  mouth  to  stifle  a  smile.  Pretty  soon  he 
knew  the  voice  of  his  daughter  Azalea  at  the  gate,  saying 
"Good  night."  But  a  rich,  manly  voice  detained  her; 
and  the  measured  swing  of  the  gate  was  again  heard  in 
the  distance.  Soon  he  heard  Lorenzo  say,  as  he  made 
ready  to  climb  upon  the  gate:  ' 

"But  whatever  of  sorrow  may  await  our  future,  dear 
one,  I  would  it  might  fall  upon  me " 

And  just  as  he  lifted  his  last  foot  from  the  ground,  the 
trap  opened,  and  the  gaunt  arm  reached  out  and  fell 
upon  him,  with  that  big  knob,  four  times ;  and  every  time 
it  reached  him,  Lorenzo  shrieked : 

"Bleeding  heart!  Oh,  mercy,  mercy,  Mr.  Man!  Oh, 
murder!  " 

And  as  he  ambled  away  in  the  starlight,  wailing  for 
arnica,  Azalea  fled  wildly  to  her  home,  shrieking,  "  Oh 
pa,  pa,  pa!  somebody  is  murdering  Lorenzo!"  And  on 
the  porch  a  pale-faced  man  thrust  the  rim  of  his  felt  hat 
into  his  mouth,  to  reinforce  his  handkerchief,  and  hugged 
himself  in  placid  content.  Pretty  soon  the  man's  fifth 
daughter  came  home  from  a  party,  and  she,  too,  perched 
on  the  gate;  and,  in  a  moment  or  two,  Alphonso  said: 

"But,  my  own  Miriam,  would  I  could  tell  you  what  I 
feel  for  you " 

But  he  didn't ;  for,  just  as  he  leaned  upon  the  gate, 
the  gaunt  arm  reached  out  and  felt  for  him  with  about 
seventy-five  pounds  of  iron,  and  knocked  his  breath  so 
far  out  of  him  that  he  couldn't  shriek  until  he  had  run 
half  a  mile  away  from  the  house.  And  Miriam  ran  into 
the  house,  screaming  that  Alphonso  had  a  fit. 

And  the  pale-faced  man  rose  up  out  of  the  shadow  and 
emptied    his  mouth;    and  as.  he   stood   under  the  quiet 


152  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Starlight,  looking  at  the  gate  whose  powerful  but  delicate 
mechanism  repelled  every  ounce  of  weight  over  130 
pounds,  a  look  of  ineffable  peace  stole  over  the  pale  face, 
and  the  smile  that  rested  on  the  quiet  features  told  that 
the  struggle  of  a  life-time  was  ended  in  victory — and  a 
gate  had  been  discovered  that  could  set  at  naught  the 
oppressions  of  thoughtless  young  people. 


THE  AUTOMATIC  CLOTHES-LINE  REEL. 


NO  one  who  lived  in  Burlington  that  year,  can  ever 
forget  the  first  practical  test  that  was  made  of 
the  famous  "Domestic  Automatic"  clothes-line  reel. 
It  was  a  curious  and  powerful  bit  of  mechanism,  and  was 
the  invention  of  a  man  who  lived  on  Barnes  Street.  This 
man  used  to  be  grievously  afflicted  because  the  Scandi- 
navian lady  who  superintended  the  weekly  wash  day 
ceremonies  at  his  house  always  took  great  pains  to  leave 
a  net  work  of  clothes  line  spread  all  around  his  back 
yard.  And  when  he  made  complaint  to  her  about  it  she 
addressed  him  in  the  musical  accents  of  Christine  Nils- 
son's  native  language,  and  overwhelmed  him  with  a 
torrent  of  eloquence  that  he  could  not  understand.  And 
when  he  remonstrated  with  his  wife  and  daughter  about 
it  they  laughed  him  to  scorn,  and  his  daughter,  who  was 
educated  at  Vassar,  and  can  hustle  her  terrified  parent 
out  of  the  house  with  one  hand,  told  him  if  he  interfered 
any  more  in  that  department  around  that  house  he'd  get 
drowned  in  the  wash  tub.  So  this  man  sufi'ered.  One 
bitter  cold  Winter  morning  he  ran  out  to  the  wood-shed 
after  some  kindling,  and  the  first  line  caught  him  under 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS. 


53 


the  chin  and  pulled  his  neck  out  till  it  was  a  foot  long, 
and  he  ran  into  the  house  and  frightened  his  wife  into 
fits  by  his  terrible  appearance,  and  she  threatened  to 
apply  for  a  divorce  if  he  ever  made  faces  at  her  that  way 
again.  It  was  nearly  three  hours  before  his  neck  shrunk 
back  to  its  natural  size.  And  a  few  nights  after  that,  he 
was  all  dressed  to  go  to  a  party  with  his  family,  and  he 
went  bounding  down  the  back  yard  to  see  that  the  alley 
gate  was  fastened,  and  a  slack  line  caught  him  amidships, 
let  him  run  out  the  slack,  and  then  when  it  hauled  taut, 
just  picked  him  up,  tossed  the  breath  out  of  him,  turned 
him  clear  over,  and  chucked  him  down  on  his  back,  split- 
ting his  coat  from  the  tail-buttons  to  the  neck.  And  he 
couldn't  move,  and  he  couldn't  speak,  and  he  couldn't 
even  breathe,  only  about  thirty  cents  on  the  dollar,  so  he 
couldn't  answer  his  wife  and  daughter  when  they  screamed 
to  him  that  they  were  ready,  and  they  concluded  that  he 
had  run  away  to  avoid  going  with  them,  so  they  went  off 
without  him,  and  never  came  back  till  eleven  o'clock,  and 
the  man  lay  out  in  the  back  yard  all  that  time,  trying  to 
die.  And  one  time  after  that,  he  Was  jogging  across  the 
back  yard  with  his  arms  full  of  about  three  hundred 
pounds  of  hard  wood,  and  he  was  laughing  like  a  hyena 
at  something  he  had  read  in  The  Hawkeye^  when  a 
clothes  prop  slipped  just  as  he  passed  under  the  line  and 
dropped  on  his  head,  raising  a  lump  as  big  as  an  egg, 
and  as  he  fell  forward,  another  line  caught  right  in  his 
mouth,  and  sawed  it  clear  back  to  his  ears,  so  that  when 
he  smiled  the  top  of  his  head  only  hung  on  a  hinge. 

Well,  these  things  naturally  weighed  on  his  mind  and 
depressed  him,  but  they  set  him  to  thinking,  and  he  went 
to  work  and  invented  a  patent  clothes-line  reel,  which 
was  inclosed  in  a  heavy  cast-iron  box,  and  was  worked 
by  a  powerful  automatic  arrangement.     You  only  had  to 


154  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

wind  up  the  box  and  set  it  for  a  certain  hour,  just  like 
an  alarm  clock,  and  at  that  hour  the  reel  would  go  off, 
and  pall  on  the  line  like  a  team  of  mules,  the  spring 
hook  at  the  other  end  of  the  line  would  let  go  its 
hold,  and  that  line  would  be  rolled  up  at  the  rate 
of  a  thousand  miles  a  minute.  He  said  nothing 
about  his  invention,  but  put  up  the  box  and  told  some 
lie  about  it  to  his  family,  which  is  a  way  men  have,  and 
he  set  it  for  7  o'clock  P.  M.,  and  wound  it  up  strong. 
Then  he  watched  Miss  Nilsson's  compatriot  run  out  the 
line  and  adjust  the  hook,  and  he  went  away. 

About  7  o'clock  that  evening,  while  he  was  toasting 
his  feet  at  the  fire  and  reading  the  almanac,  the  family 
were  disturbed  by  unmistakable  indications  of  a  fight 
going  on  in  the  back  yard  between  a  hurricane  and  an 
earthquake,  in  which  the  earthquake  appeared  to  be  get- 
ting a  little  the  best  of  it.  The  affrighted  family  rushed 
to  the  back  door  and  looked  out  upon  a  scene  of  devas- 
tation and  anarchy.  The  air  was  full  of  fragments  of 
linen,  and  cotton,  and  red  flannel,  while  shirt  buttons, 
clothes  pins,  and  little  brass  buckles,  were  flying  like 
hail.  The  reel  in  the  iron  box  was  making  about  60,000 
revolutions  a  minute,  and  was  whirling  around  like  a 
thrashing  machine,  and  the  line  was  tearing  around  the 
posts  like  a  streak  of  runaway  lightning,  and  the  clothes 
were  trying  to  keep  along  with  it,  and  around  the  posts 
they  were  ripping,  tearing  and  snapping  more  than  any 
cyclone  that  ever  got  loose,  while  where  the  line  shot  into 
the  hawse-hole  in  the  iron  box,  the  striped  stockings  and 
white  shirts  and  things,  and  flannels,  and  yarn  socks,  and 
undershirts  and  more  things,  and  aprons,  and  handker- 
chiefs, and  sheets  and  things,  and  pillow  slips,  just  foamed 
and  bulged,  and  tossed  wildly,  and  ripped,  and  tore,  and 
scraped,  until  the  yard  and  air  were  so  full  of  lint  that  it 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS,  I  55 

looked  worse  than  an  arctic  snow  storm.  Oh,  it  was 
dreadful.  It  was  terrible.  Everybody  shrieked  in 
dismay. 

"  Somebody's  at  the  clothes  line  !"  screamed  the  man's 
daughter. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  yelled  the  man,  "  hadn't  you  taken 
the  clothes  in  ?  " 

"No!"  chorused  the  women. 

The  man  thought  he  would  save  what  was  left.  He 
sprang  at  the  clothes  line.  He  caught  the  flying  hook 
at  the  end  with  both  hands,  and  the  next  instant,  before 
the  terrified  eyes  of  his  shrieking  wife  and  daughter,  he 
was  jerked  through  the  hole  in  the  iron  box,  a  quivering 
mass  of  boneless  flesh,  while  his  glistening  skeleton  fell 
rattling  upon  the  porch. 

They  gathered  his  frame  work  off"  the  porch,  and 
unlocked  the  box  and  drew  out  his  covering.  He  was 
not  dead,  so  deftly  and  quickly  had  he  been  removed 
from  his  framework.  They  sent  for  the  doctors,  but  their 
skill  could  not  avail  to  get  the  man  together  again,  and 
now  he  sits,  limp  and  boneless,  in  a  high-backed  easy 
chair,  smiling  sadly  at  his  grinning  skeleton,  which  sits 
in  a  chair  on. the  opposite  side  of  the  fire-place,  grinning 
sociably  at  its  counterpart,  and  rattling  horribly  every 
time  it  crosses  its  bony  legs,  or  scratches  the  top  of  its 
glistening  head  with  its  gaunt,  fleshless  fingers.  And 
thus  that  poor  man  will  have  to  drag  out  a  dual  existence 
until  death  comes  to  both  of  him.  It  is  a  painful, 
expensive  life,  for  the  skeleton  eats  just  as  much  as  the 
flesh,  and  the  flesh  has  taken  to  smoking  ten  cent  cigars, 
and  the  skeleton  can't  sleep  a  wink  unless  it  has  a  big 
hot  whisky  every  night  at  bed  time.  And  all  this  is  the 
result  of  wicked,  wicked  carelessness.  A  terrible  warn- 
ing to  women  who  leave  the  clothes-line  up  after  dark. 


156  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


INSPIRATIONS    OF   TRUTH. 


EVERY  year,  so  oft  as  the  2 2d  of  February  comes, 
the  day  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  father  of  his 
country  is  faithfully  celebrated  by  two  good  boys  of 
Burlington,  who,  if  their  lives  are  only  spared,  will  yet 
be  second  editions  of  the  immortal  G.  W.  Last  year,  it 
was  noticed  by  every  one  about  the  house,  they  were 
unusually  good.  They  stayed  home  all  the  morning,  and 
talked  about  Washington,  and  how  he  broke  the  mule 
and  girdled  the  sassafras  tree,  a*nd  how  good  he  was,  and 
what  a  pity  it  was  he  had  no  middle  name.  Along  in 
the  afternoon  their  mother  sent  them  to  the  church, 
where  there  was  to  be  a  festival,  with  a  basket  filled 
liigh  with  sweet  home-made  bread,  and  cold  boiled  ham, 
and  roast  chicken,  and  one  thing  and  another.  They 
took  hold  of  the  basket  and  plodded  soberly  and  goodily 
toward  the  church.  As  they  started  down  Division 
Street  they  saw  a  boy  coming  toward  them  whom  they 
knew.  He  was  the  son  of  a  neighbor,  the  blacksmith's 
boy,  with  whom  they  had  a  feud  of  long  standing ;  for  on 
•divers  occasions  he  had  caught  these  good  brothers  out, 
separately,  and  had  rudely  assaulted  them,  and  fairly 
pounded  the  hair  off  their  heads.  He  was  a  little  too 
healthy  for  either  of  the  boys  alone,  but  the  pair  had 
sworn  to  make  it  lively  for  him  if  ever  they  lighted  upon 
him  together.  So  soon  as  they  saw  him  they  put  down 
the  basket  and  gave  chase.  He  girded  up  his  loins  and 
fled,  but  the  boys  got  themselves  up  and  pursued  after 
him  and  pressed  him  hard,  and  after  a  rattling  chase  of 
about  two  blocks,  they  encompassed  him  round  about  in  a 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  157 

vacant  lot,  and  fell  upon  him,  and  smote  him  insomuch 
that  he  begged  for  mercy  and  screamed  for  succor  until 
he  was  black  in  the  face.  Then  the  victors,  joyous 
returning  from  the  fray,  with  light  steps  sought  their  long 
abandoned  train.  Imagine  their  dismay  when,  through 
the  gathering  twilight  gloom,  they  saw  somewhat  less 
than  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dogs,  half  buried  in 
the  basket,  dividing  and  devouring  the  sutler  stores  con- 
tained therein.  There  was  precious  little  left  when  the 
dogs  were  driven  away,  and  the  boys  went  home  exceed- 
ing sorrowful,  but  hopeful.  Their  mother  met  them  at 
the  door,  and  took  the  empty  basket  from  their  hands. 

"Who  did  you  give  the  basket  to.''"  she  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Featherstone,  dear  ma,"  replied  the  elder  George 
Washington. 

"And  what  did  she  say.-* "  asked  their  mother,  for  Mrs. 
Featherstone  is  an  authority  in  church  festivals. 

"Oh,"  chorused  both  George  Washingtons,  "she  said 
it  was  the  nicest  basket  that  had  come  in  all  the  after- 
noon." 

"And,"  added  the  younger  George,  feeling  that  he 
wasn't  doing  himself  justice  if  he  didn't  get  in  an  inde- 
pendent statement,  "Mrs.  Lamphreys  said  she  would 
give  anything  in  the  world  if  she  could  make  such  white 
bread  as  yours  —  she  said  it  was  wonderful  how  you 
done  it." 

"Now,  did  she  say  that?"  cried  the  delighted  woman; 
for  at  the  last  sociable  Mrs.  Lamphreys  said  her  bread 
was  like  bass-wood  slabs. 

"And  Mr.  Middlerib,"  cried  the  elder  G.  W.,  fearful 
lest  his  younger  brother  should  find  favor  and  be  exalted 
over  him,  "  said  there  wasn't  such  chickens  anywhere  in 
the  State  of  Iowa  outside  of  that  basket." 

And  then  the  younger  held   the  age  again,  and  the 


158  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

older  chipped  one,  and  the  younger  saw  him  and  raised 
him,  and  then  the  older  came  in,  and  the  younger  stayed 
right  by  him,  and  they  told  all  manner  of  things  and 
compliments  about  and  from  all  manner  of  people  who 
were  at  the  church,  until  the  good  woman,  astonished 
and  delighted  at  her  sudden  popularity,  determined  to 
go  to  the  sociable,  although  she  had  not  intended  to  do 
so.  She  went,  and  she  looked  in  vain  for  her  cake  and 
ham  and  chicken.  She  returned  home  at  an  early  hour, 
and  roused  her  young  George  Washingtons  from  the 
sweet,  innocent  sleep  of  childhood.  Then  she  took  a 
skate  strap,  and  after  a  brief  but  pointed  cross-questioning 

on  the  evidence  already  brought  forward,  proceeded . 

The  rest  is  too  awful. 


SPIRIT  PHOTOGRAPHY. 


IT  must  have  been  nearly  three  years  ago,  as  nearly  as 
we  can  remember,  just  about  the  time  Monfort  and 
Hill  got  to  photographing  ghosts,  that  a  tall,  pale  man, 
with  piercing  black  eyes  and  long  hair,  came  to  Burling- 
ton and  opened  a  photograph  gallery.  He  was  a  spirit 
photographer,  and  when  his  sitters  received  their  pictures, 
for  which  they  were  expected  to  pay  very  roundly,  lo,  the 
spirit  faces  of  dear  ones  who  had  gone  before  clustered 
around  the  face  of  the  party  whose  photograph  had  been 
taken  from  life.  There  were  plenty  of  people  in  the 
learned  city  of  Burlington  who  were  as  fond  of  believing 
in  supernatural  things  as  are  the  outside  barbarians.  So, 
credulous  men  and  women  thronged  to  the  spirit  artist's 


AND  OTHFR  HAWK  -  EYETEMS. 


159 


Studio,  the  spirits  came  up  to  be  photographed  around 
their  mortal  friends  by  squads  and  platoons,  and  worldly 
dross,  in  the  shape  of  a  fluctuating  and  irredeemable 
currency,  poured  into  the  artist's  coffers,  and  he  was 
happy.  Among  others  who  went  to  his  studio,  was  a 
sad-eyed  young  man  who  is  a  genius.  He  never  used  to 
get  home  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  because  he  was 
down  in  his  office,  he  told  the  folks,  burning  the  mid- 
night oil,  and  committing  the  yearnings  of  a  restless  and 
ambitious  genius  to  paper.  He  was  supposed  to  be 
writing  a  book  of  poems,  and,  consequently,  the  fair  ones 
who  were  privileged  to  enter  the  circle  of  his  dreamy 
acquaintance,  doted  on  him.  When  he  went  to  have  his 
photograph  taken,  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,  the  one 
who  tells  him  what  nice  hands  he  has,  and  who  rubs  his 
head  when  his  long  hours  of  lonely  study  make  it  ache 
all  the  next  day,  accompanied  him.  He  told  her  on  the 
way  down  that  he  expected  when  his  counterfeit  pre- 
sented itself  on  the  albumenized  card,  the  spirit  faces  of 
Byron,  and  Hood,  and  Macaulay,  and  Shakspeare,  an(i 
Tom  Moore,  and  Shelley  would  rise  and  cluster  around 
him.  She  gasped  hysterically,  and,  looking  proudly  at 
him,  said  she  believed  they  would  too,  and  wouldn't  it 
be  nice?  But  he  only  sighed  gloomily,  as  genius  always 
sighs,  and  they  entered  the  studio. 

While  the  young  man  was  posing  himself  the  Pro- 
fessor told  him  that  those  who  were  nearest  and  dearest 
to  him  in  his  lonely  hours  would  gather  around  him  and 
kiss  the  clustering  curls  on  his  marble  brow,  and  that  no 
earthly  power  could  keep  them  out  of  the  camera.  The 
young  lady  reiterated  her  opinion  in  regard  to  the  "  nice- 
ness  "  of  such  an  arrangement,  the  young  man  put  on  a 
look  of  genius  and  gazed  into  the  camera  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  is  wondering  where  he  can  borrow  three  dol- 


l6o  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

lars ;  the  artist  dived  under  the  cloth  and  in  due  time  he 
stepped  to  the  front  with  the  picture  and  exhibited  it  to 
the  poet  and  the  adoring  girl. 

Spirits  ? 

One  or  two  of  them.  Right  in  the  center  was  the 
young  poet,  gazing  dreamily  out  into  vacancy.  And  the 
spirits  who  cheered  him  in  his  lonely  hours  of  study,  and 
assisted  him  in  the  conflagration  of  the  midnight  oil, 
gathered  around  him,  and  never  stirred  or  faded,  not 
even  when  the  poet  ejaculated,  "  Oh  lying  horrors  !  "  nor 
yet  when  the  young  girl  shrieked  and  fell  fainting  with 
her  hair  caught  in  that  forked  thing  the  artist  stands 
behind  the  subject  to  hold  his  head  steady.  For  on  the 
right  of  the  poet  there  stood  a  spirit  with  a  long  slim 
neck  whose  name  appeared  to  be  "  Whisky  Cocktail," 
and  on  the  left  there  was  a  short,  squatty  spirit  who  was 
announced  as  just  plain  "  Gin,"  and  then,  clustering  all 
around  the  young  poet's  head,  like  an  aureola,  were 
"  Straights,"  whatever  they  are,  "  Grasshopper  Punch," 
"  Log  Cabin  Cocktail,"  "  Old  Tamarack,"  *'  Eye  Ope-ners," 
"Appetizers,"  "Night  Caps,"  "Can't  Quits,"  "Corpse 
Revivers,"  "  Coffin  Nails,"  "  Indian  Cocktails,"  "  Moun- 
tain Dew,"  "  Benzine,"  "The  New  Drink,"  "  Fly  Poison," 
"What  Killed  Dad,"  "The  Same,"  "Fast  Freight," 
"Bran'an  Wa'r,"  "  Sherri'neg,"  "  Sudden  Death,"  "Cru- 
sade Drops,"  "  Commissary  No.  3,"  "  Old  Crow," 
"Tangleleg,"  "Forty  Rod,"  "Grim  Death,"  "  Jimson 
Juice,"  ".Chain  Lightning,"  "Twelfth  Resolution," 
"That's  on  Me,"  "Temperance  Tract,"  "Quinine,"  and 
several  other  spirits  who  were  too  far  in  the  back  ground 
to  show  their  cards  very  distinctly. 

The  young  man  didn't  take  another  sitting,  and  he  has 
since  spent  more  time  trying  to  convince  "  her"  that 
this  spirit  photography  is  the  greatest  humbug  that  ever 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  l6l 

deluded  a  credulous  people,  than  he  ever  spent  with  the 
spirits  who  share  his  lonely  hours  of  midnight  toil. 


WRITING    FOR   THE    PRESS. 


PROF.  MATTHEWS,  in  his  delightful  book,  "Hours 
With  Men  and  Books,"  devotes  a  chapter,  and  a 
very  instructive  chapter  too,  to  advising  and  directing 
people  who  are  determined  to  write  for  the  press  what 
to  write  and  how  to  say  it.  But  even  in  that  special 
chapter  Prof.  Matthews  has  overlooked  quite  a  num- 
ber of  important  points  which  we,  in  our  experience 
with  occasional  newspaper  contributors,  have  come  to 
look  upon  as  absolutely  essential  to  good  correspondence. 
We  have  had,  even  in  the  usually  infallible  Haivk- 
eye^  some  complaint,  once  in  a  while,  from  occasional 
correspondents  about  mistakes  which  have  appeared  in 
their  articles  when  they  come  out  in  print.  We  are 
aware  that  in  many  cases  the  fault  was  our  own,  but  we 
are  confident  all  such  trouble  could  be  remedied  if  cor- 
respondents would  pay  a  little  more  attention  to  the 
preparation  of  their  manuscript.  Printers  are  not  always 
infallible,  and  proof  readers  do  sometimes  make  mis- 
takes, but  we  have  prepared  a  few  practical  hints  and 
instructions,  and  if  people  who  write  occasionally  for  the 
papers  will  only  observe  the  following  simple  and  practi- 
cal rules,  which  are  much  easier  to  observe  than  Prof. 
Matthews',  they  may  be  assured  that  their  articles  will 
always  command  the  highest  market  price,  which  is  sel- 
dom less  than  two  cents  a  pound : 


l62  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Never  write  with  pen  or  ink.  It  is  altogether  too  plain, 
and  doesn't  hold  the  mind  of  the  editor  and  printers 
closely  enough  to  their  work. 

If  you  are  compelled  to  use  ink  never  use  that  vul- 
garity known  as  the  blotting  pad.  If  you  drop  a  blot  of 
ink  on  the  paper,  lick  it  off.  The  intelligent  compositor 
loves  nothing  so  dearly  as  to  read  through  the  smear  this 
will  make  across  twenty  or  thirty  words.  We  have  seen 
him  hang  over  such  a  piece  of  copy  half  an  hour,  swear- 
ing like  a  pirate  all  the  time,  he  felt  that  good. 

Don't  punctuate.  Editors  and  publishers  prefer  to 
punctuate  all  manuscript  sent  to  them.  And  don't  use 
capitals.  Then  the  editor  can  punctuate  and  capitalize 
to  suit  himself,  and  your  article,  when  you  see  it  in  print, 
will  astonish  even  if  it  does  not  please  you. 

Don't  try  to  write  too  plainly.  It  is  a  sign  of  plebeian 
origin  and  public -school  breeding.  Poor  writing  is  an 
indication  of  genius.  It's  about  the  only  indication  of 
genius  that  a  great  many  men  possess.  Scrawl  your 
article  with  your  eyes  shut,  and  make  every  word  as 
illegible  as  you  can.  We  get  the  same  price  for  it  from 
the  rag -man  as  though  the  paper  were  covered  with 
copper -plate  sentences. 

Avoid  all  painstaking  with  proper  names.  All  editors 
know  the  full  name  of  every  man,  woman  and  child  in 
the  United  States,  and  the  merest  hint  at  the  name  is 
sufficient.  For  instance,  if  you  write  a  character  some- 
thing like  a  drunken  figure  "8,"  and  then  draw  a  wavy 
line,  and  then  write  the  letter  M  and  another  wavy 
line,  the  editor  will  know  at  once  that  you  mean  Samuel 
Morrison,  even  though  you  may  think  you  mean  "  Lem- 
uel Messenger."  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  think  that 
proper  names  should  be  written  plainly. 

Always  write  on  both  sides  of  the  paper,  and  when  you 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  163 

have  filled  both  sides  of  every  page  trail  a  line  up  and 
down  every  margin,  and  back  to  the  top  of  the  first  page, 
closing  your  article  by  writing  the  signature  just  above 
the  date.  How  editors  do  love  to  get  hold  of  articles 
written  in  this  style.  And  how  they  would  like  to  get 
hold  of  the  man  who  sends  them.  Just  for  ten  minutes. 
Alone.     In  the  woods,  with  a  gun. 

Lay  your  paper  on  the  ground  when  you  write ;  the 
rougher  the  ground  the  better.  A  dry  goods  box  or  the 
side  of  the  house  will  do  if  the  ground  is  too  damp. 
Any  thing  rather  than  a  table  or  desk. 

Coarse  brown  wrapping  paper  is  the  best  for  writing 
your  articles  on.  If  you  can  tear  down  an  old  circus 
poster  and  write  on  the  pasty  side  of  it  with  a  pine  stick, 
it  will  do  still  better. 

When  your  article  is  completed,  crunch  the  paper  in 
your  pocket,  and  carry  it  two  or  three  days  before  send- 
ing it  in.  This  rubs  off  the  superfluous  pencil  marks 
and  makes  it  lighter  to  handle. 

If  you  can  think  of  it,  lose  one  page  out  of  the  middle 
of  your  article.  The  editor  can  easily  supply  what  is 
missing,  and  he  loves  to  do  it.  He  has  nothing  else 
to  do. 

If  correspondents  will  observe  these  directions,  editors, 
in  most  instances,  will  hold  themselves  personally 
responsible  for  every  error  that  appears  in  their  articles, 
and  will  pay  full  claims  for  damages  when  complaint  is 
made.  We  shall  never  forget  the  last  man  who  com- 
plained at  \.\\Q  JIawkeye  office. under  this  rule.  We  can 
never,  never,  although  we  should  live  a  thousand  years, 
forget  the  appalling  look  he  turned  upon  us  while  we 
were  pulling  his  lungs  out  of  his  ear  with  the  nail-grab. 
Our  heart  seemed  to  turn  to  ice,  under  the  influence  of 
that  dumb  beseeching  look,  while  we  tore  him  to  pieces. 
12 


164  RISE    AND    FALL    OK    THE    MUSTACHE, 

We  have  never  torn  a  man  to  pieces  since  without  feel- 
ing the  hot  tears  spring  to  our  eyes  as  we  think  of  that 
man.  We  have  been  tempted,  time  and  again,  to  break 
ourselves  of  this  habit  of  tearing  men  to  pieces  for  trivial 
causes.  But  we  digress.  We  were  merely  saying  we 
are  always  happy  to  receive  complaints  and  correct  any 
errors  for  which  we  are  responsible. 


DANGERS  OF   BATHING. 


AS  the  warm  weather  raises  the  waters  of  the  creeks 
and  rivers  to  the  temperature  so  inviting  to  the 
boys  of  the  republic,  a  few  instructive  and  general  sug- 
gestions relative  to  bathing  in  the  streams  may  prove  the 
means  of  saving  some  juvenile  lives.  Boys  are  pro- 
verbially rash  and  reckless  in  almost  everything  they  do, 
and  are  so  apt  to  overdo  whatever  they  undertake,  except 
sawing  wood  or  fastening  the  front  gate,  that  too  much 
wholesome  advice  on  the  benefits  of  abstinence  can  never 
be  amiss  in  their  cases.  And  especially  is  such  advice 
necessary  in  regard  to  bathing,  for  when  a  boy  makes 
up  his  mind  to  "go  swimming,"  he  thinks  of  nothing 
in  the  world  except  getting  into  the  water.  And  every 
year  so  many  precious  lives  are  endangered,  and  so  much 
pain  and  misery  caused  by  boyish  carelessness  and 
thoughtlessness  in  this  respect,  that  it  is  a  solemn  and 
important  duty  of  journalism  to  warn  the  boys  of  the 
dangers  that  wait  upon  bathing  parties,  and  instruct  them 
how  to  avoid  them.  We  therefore  give  a  few  rules,  culled 
from  the  pages  of  personal  experience,  which,  if  properly 


AND    OTHER    HAWis:  -  EYETEMS.  1 65 

observed  by  the  boys  of  America,  may  save  them  no  one 
can  tell  how  much  misery  and  suffering. 

1.  Always  ask  your  mother  if  you  may  go  down  to 
the  river  with  the  boys  to  hunt  carnelians.  Mention  the 
names  of  Sammie  Johason,  and  Robbie  Gregg,  and  Ellis 
Haskell  and  Johnnie  Chalmers,  and  Charlie  Austin,  and 
Wallie  Colburn,  and  Dockie  VVorthington,  all  well-known 
"  good  boys,"  who  wash  their  faces  every  morning,  keep 
their  clothes  clean,  wear  white  collars,  and  don't  say  bad 
words,  as  the  young  gentlemen  who  are  to  comprise  the 
party.  A  judicious  and  strict  adherence  to  this  rule  has 
often  obtained  the  necessary  parental  permission  to  visit 
the  river  shore,  which  would  otherwise  be  sternly  denied, 
especially  if  it  should  appear  that  Bill  Slamup,  and  Tom 
Dobbins,  and  Jim  Sikes,  and  Butch  Tinker,  and  Mickey 
McCann,  were  the  alternates  who  were  confidently  ex- 
pected to  represent  the  first  named  delegates  in  the  con- 
vention. 

2.  Avoid  going  into  the  river  in  the  vicinity  of  a  lum- 
ber yard.  The  temptation  to  take  pine  boards  from  the 
lumber  piles  to  swim  on  is  too  strong  for  many  boys  to 
resist.  It  is  very  pleasant,  we  know,  to  swim  around  on 
a  nice  broad  plank,  but  the  lumbermen  do  not  always 
like  it,  and  we  have  known  a  rough  board,  abruptly  drawn 
from  beneath  the  horizontal  figure  of  a  kicking,  paddling, 
laughing  boy,  to  fill  him  with  remorse  and  slivers  to  an 
extent  that  would  appear  incredible  were  it  not  for  ti^e 
fact  that  the  boy  who  loses  his  plank  in  this  way  has 
plenty  of  time  to  count  his  slivers  as  he  pulls  them  out. 

We  knew  a  boy,  twenty  years  ago,  who  swam  off  a 
plank  in  this  way,  and  immediately  afterward  sat  down 
on  the  sandy  shore,  and  amid  the  unfeeling  laughter  and 
mocking  sympathy  of  his  colleagues,  withdrew  from  his 
cuticle,   beginning  at  the   chin  and   ending  at  the  toes, 


l66  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

three  hundred  and  seventeen  well -developed  average 
slivers,  and  four  of  a  larger  variety,  denominated  snags. 
And  sometimes  we  wake  up  in  the  night,  from  happy 
dreams  of  childhood's  guileless  days,  and  half  believe  we 
didn't  get  all  those  slivers  out  then. 

3.  Avoid  putting  a  bar  of  kitchen  soap  in  your  pocket 
before  you  leave  home.  It  frequently  gives  the  bather 
away  entirely,  being  quickly  missed  from  the  sink,  and 
readily  detected  about  the  person.  And  even  if  you  get 
it  safely  to  the  river,  and  the  first  boy  who  "  soaps  him- 
self" does  not  lose  it  in  twenty  feet  of  water,  the  "strocky" 
appearance  of  your  hair,  on  your  return  home,  instantly 
betrays  the  recent  and  extravagant  use  of  resin  soap, 
and  grave  consequences  are  apt  to  follow.  Besides,  you 
do  not  really  need  the  soap,  as  is  attested  by  your  well- 
known  aversion  to  it  at  home. 

4.  If  convenient,  bathe  very  near  a  railroad  bridge. 
Then,  when  a  passenger  train  comes  thundering  by,  you 
can  rush  out  of  the  water  and  dance  and  shriek  on  the 
bank.  Travelers  like  this;  and  if  your  uncle  Jasper, 
from  Waterloo,  or  your  father  returning  from  Creston, 
should  happen  to  be  on  the  train  and  recognize  you,  they 
will  tell  you  what  the  passengers  said  about  it,  and  your 
father  will  be  so  pleased  that  he  will  assist  you  in  a  little 
physical  exercise,  so  essential  to  the  health  after  bathing. 
And  then  the  next  time  you  go  in  swimming  you  can 
sl>pw  the  boys  your  back — a  spectacle  in  which  they  will 
take  fiendish  delight,  which  they  will  exhibit  by  imitating, 
in  most  expressive  pantomime,  the  contortions,  gestures, 
and  outcries  in  which  you  were  supposed  to  have  indulged 
while  your  father  was  putting  that  back  on  you. 

5.  If  you  desire  to  get  up  a  crowd  to  go  swimming, 
signify  your  wishes  by  holding  up  your  right  hand,  with 
the  first  and  second  fingers  erect  and  spread  apart  like  a 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  167 

letter  V,  and  as  many  good  boys  as  are  ready,  willing 
and  anxious  to  run  away  and  go  with  you,  will  respond  by 
the  same  sign,  and  the  party  can  easily  be  made  up  with- 
out fear  of  detection,  in  the  presence  of  the  unsuspecting 
preceptor,  who  is  a  graduate  of  a  private  school,  and 
never  had  any  fun. 

6.  Should  any  boy  be  so  lost  to  honor  as  to  desire  to 
leave  the  water  before  the  rest  of  the  crowd  wish  to  do 
so,  he  may  be  easily  induced  to  return  to  the  liquid  ele- 
ment by  gently  tossing  a  handful  of  dry  sand  or  dust 
upon  his  back,  as  nearly  between  the  shoulders  as  may 
be.  If  there  is  a  really  good,  unsophisticated  boy  in  the 
crowd  whose  habit  of  wearing  a  white  collar  and  carrying 
a  clean  handkerchief  pronounces  him  a  haughty  aristo- 
crat, the  bad  boys,  by  getting  dressed  first  and  judiciously 
applying  the  sand  to  him  as  often  as  he  "comes  out," 
can  keep  him  in  the  water  until  his  father  comes  to  look 
for  him.  Then,  the  next  afternoon  he  goes  down  with 
you  to  the  river,  you  can  look  at  his  back,  and  have  your 
revenge. 

7.  If  a  boy  lingers  in  the  water  too  long,  it  is  some- 
times advisable,  in  order  that  he  may  learn  to  abstain 
from  indulging  himself  to  such  an  intemperate  extent  in 
the  future,  to  tie  each  sleeve  of  his  shirt  in  a  most  terrific 
hard  knot,  right  at  the  elbow.  When  this  knot  is  dipped 
into  the  water,  and  a  boy  gets  at  each  end  of  the  sleeve, 
braces  his  feet  and  pulls  for  life,  it  may  be  drawn  so 
tightly  that  it  can  not  be  drawn  out  with  a  stump 
machine.  The  boy  who  belongs  to  that  shirt,  after  many 
vain  endeavors,  is  either  compelled  to  cut  off  the  sleeves, 
or,  multis  cum  lachrymts,  go  home  with  it  buttoned  around 
his  neck  and  hanging  down  his  back. like  a  drunken 
apron.  Thfs  gives  him  away,  bad,  and  the  appearance 
of  that  weeping  boy,  plodding  timorously  and  apprehen- 


1 68  RISE    AND    KALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

sively  homeward  through  the  gloaming,  and  the  variegated 
aspect  of  his  back  the  next  night,  produce  such  a  pleas- 
ant impression  upon  you,  that  for  two  weeks  afterward, 
as  your  dear  mother  looks  in  at  your  room  door,  and  sees 
you  smiling  in  your  sleep,  she  thinks  the  angels  are 
whispering  to  you. 

8.  The  most  approved  method  of  drying  the  hair  is 
to  shake  it  up  rapidly  with  a  pine  stick.  Never  comb 
your  hair  smoothly  before  going  home,  no  matter  who 
offers  to  loan  you  a  pocket-  comb.  A  slick  head  of  hair 
excites  suspicion  in  the  family  circle  on  sight. 

9.  If,  at  the  supper-  table,  the  dreadful  discovery  is 
made  by  your  mother  or  sister  that  your  shirt  is  wrong 
side  out,  the  best  way  to  do  is  to  own  right  up.  Excuses 
are  useless  ;  and  no  mother  or  father  of  ordinary  intelli- 
gence was  ever  misled  by  the  assertion,  however 
solemnly  made,  that  the  shirt  was  turned  by  reason  of 
the  boy  too  suddenly  climbing  a  fence  instead  of  going 
through  the  gate. 

10.  To  get  water  out  of  your  ears,  lean  your  head 
over  to  one  side,  and  kick  out  violently  with  one  leg, 
while  you  pound  your  head  smartly  with  the  palm  of 
your  hand.  It  is  an  exploded  fallacy  that  holding  a 
warm  stone  to  the  ear  will  bring  out  the  water. 

There  are  some  other  rules  which  might  be  added  to 
the  above,  but  they  are  comparatively  unimportant,  and 
are  so  generally  known  that  you  can  learn  them  by  ap- 
plying for  information  to  the  first  bad  boy  you  meet. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EVETEMS.  1 69 


THE    POWER   OF    DIGNITY. 


THE  human  heart,  in  all  its  expansive,  limitless 
capacity  for  enjoyment,  takes  greater  pleasure  in 
nothing  than  in  witnessing  a  portly,  solemn  -  visaged 
man,  the  embodiment  of  natural  dignity,  importance 
in  clothes,  administer  a  scathing  rebuke  to  some 
"smart"  petty  government  official.  One  morning  just 
such  a  personification  of  innate  dignity  loomed  up  at  the 
stamp  window  of  the  post-office,  and  glared  in  gloomy 
and  majestic  displeasure  at  the  busy  clerk  who  registered 
a  letter  before  he  sprang  to  the  window  and  asked  the 
stately  customer  what  he  wished.  The  great  man  did 
not  answer  for  several  moments.  He  gazed  steadily  and 
impressively  over  the  clerk's  head,  and  then  asked,  in 
ponderous  tones: 

"Is  there  any  one  hear-r-r-e  who  attends  to  business.'*" 

The  embarrassed  clerk  blushed,  faltered  for  a  moment, 
then,  recovering  himself,  said,  with  characteristic  and 
national  cheerfulness,  becoming  an  official  of  the  Re- 
public: 

"  I  will  see,  sir." 

And  he  disappeared.  He  went  into  the  other  depart- 
ments, tortured  a  carrier  with  an  original  conundrum, 
and  heard  a  good  story  in  the  mailing  room,  and  came 
back. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said  to  the  great  one,  "there  are,  in 
addition  to  myself,  three  clerks  in  the  letter  department, 
one  in  the  mailing  room,  four  carriers,  three  route  agents, 
the  mail  driver  and  a  janitor." 


1 7©  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTAGHE, 

"Ah-h-h!  I  am  glad  there  are  so  many.  I  may  in 
all  that  number  find  one  who  is  at  his  post." 

And  then  he  looked  as  impressive  as  a  special  agent, 
and  was  silent  for  three  minutes,  while  the  humbled 
clerk  awaited  his  orders,  and  impatient  men  behind  him 
fidgeted  and  grumbled.  Finally,  the  great  man  said 
with  deep  solemnity : 

"I  wish  one  three-cent  stamp." 

The  clerk  tore  off  the  stamp  and  held  it,  waiting  for 
the  consideration.  The  great  man  made  a  somewhat 
longer  pause  than  usual;  he  felt  in  his  various  vest 
pockets;  he  gradually  lost  his  look  of  impressive  rebuke  ; 
his  chest  caved  in,  and  he  assumed  the  aspect  of  an 
ordinary  frail  mortal,  and  he  said: 

"Ah  —  the  fact  is  —  I'm  sure  —  ah  —  in  short,  I  find 
that  I  have  carelessly  left  my  purse  at  home  —  can  you 
kindly  —  " 

The  clerk,  with  the  faintest  suggestion  of  triumph  in 
his  eye,  brusquely  waved  the  great  man  aside  with  — 

"Sorry  for  you,  sir;  but  the  clerk  who  sells  stamps  on 
credit  is  not  in.     What  does  the  next  man  want.?  " 

And  the  great  man,  as  he  backed  through  the  smiling 
crowd  who  stood  around  with  money  in  their  hands,  felt 
somehow  that  his  rebuke  had  been  thrown  away,  and 
feared  that  if  the  case  went  to  the  jury  without  argument 
it  would  very  probably  bring  in  a  verdict  for  the  Govern- 
ment. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  171 


A   CANDID   CONFESSION. 


THERE  used  to  live  down  on  Washington  Street,  a 
good  man,  who  endeavored  to  train  up  his  children 
in  the  way  they  should  go,  and  as  his  flock  was  numerous 
he  had  anything  but  a  sinecure  in  this  training  business. 
Only  last  Summer  the  elder  of  these  male  olive  branches, 
who  had  lived  about  fourteen  wicked  years,  enticed  his 
younger  brother,  who  had  only  had  ten  years'  experience 
in  boyish  deviltry,  to  go  out  on  the  river  in  a  boat,  a 
species  of  pastime  which  their  father  had  many  a  time 
forbidden,  and  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  enforce  his  veto 
with  a  skate  strap.  But  the  boys  went  this  time,  trust- 
ing to  luck  to  conceal  their  depravity  from  the  knowledge 
of  their  pa,  and  in  due  time  they  returned,  and  walked 
around  the  house,  the  two  most  innocent  looking  boys  in 
Burlington.  They  separated  for  a  few  moments,  and  at 
the  expiration  of  that  time  the  elder  was  suddenly  con- 
fronted by  his  father  who  requested  a  private  interview 
in  the  usual  place,  and  the  pair  adjourned  to  the  wood 
shed,  where,  after  a  brief  but  highly  spirited  performance, 
in  which  the  boy  appeared  most  successfully  as  "  heavy 
villain  "  and  his  father  took  his  favorite  role  of  "  fii*st  old 
man,"  the  curtain  went  down  and  the  boy,  considerably 
mystified,  sought  his  younger  brother. 

"  John,"  he  said,  "  who  do  you  suppose  told  dad } 
Have  you  been  licked  ?  " 

John's  face  will  not  look  more  peaceful  and  resigned 
when  it  is  in  his  coffin  than  it  did  as  he  replied, 

"  No,  have  you  ?  " 


172  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THF    MUSTACHE, 

"  Have  I  ?  Come  down  to  the  cow  yand  and  look  at  my 
back." 

John  declined,  but  said  : 

"Well,  Bill,  I'll  tell  you  how  father  found  us  out.  I 
am  tired  of  acting  this  way,  and  I  ain't  going  to  run 
away  and  come  home  and  lie  about  it  any  more.  I'm 
going  to  do  better  after  this,  and  so  when  I  saw  father  I 
couldn't  help  it,  and  went  right  to  him  and  confessed." 

Bill  was  touched  at  this  manly  action  on  the  part  of 
his  younger  brother.  It  found  a  tender  place  in  the  bad 
boy's  heart,  and  he  was  visibly  affected  by  it.  But  he 
asked  : 

"  How  did  it  happen  the  old  man  didn't  lick  you  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  the  penitent  young  reformer,  "you  see  I 
didn't  confess  on  myself,  I  only  confessed  on  you;  that 
was  the  way  of  it." 

A  strange,  cold  light  glittered  in  Bill's  eye. 

"  Only  confessed  on  me  .''  "  he  said.  "  Well,  that's  all 
right,  but  come  down  behind  the  cow  shed  and  look  at 
my  back." 

And  when  they  got  there  do  you  suppose  John  saw  the 
first  mite  of  Bill's  back?  Ah  no,  dear  children,  he  saw 
nothing  bigger  than  Bill's  fists,  and  before  he  got  out  of 
that  locality  he  was  the  worst  pounded  John  that  ever 
confessed  on  anybody.  Thus  it  is  that  our  coming 
reformers  are  made  and  trained. 


liURLINGTON   NOVELETTE. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  173 


A    BURLINGTON    NOVELETTE. 


CHAPTER    I 


MARGUERITTE!" 
"  Bertrande  Hautville   Montaigne  du   Biffing- 
ton  !  " 

And  the  soughing  of  the  September  wind  swept 
through  the  tremulous  leaves  like  the  whisper  of  memo- 
ries, ghosts  of  the  far  away  had  been.  Each  star  that 
lit  the  azure  dome  with  glittering  ray  — er,  ah — er — er — 
with  glittering  ray.  Ray. 
It  looked  like  rain. 

CHAPTER    II. 

Margueritte  Hortense  Isana  I'Erena  del  Imperatricia 
du  Calincourt  Johnson  was  an  orphan. 

Her  father  was  dead. 

And,  also,  by  the  way,  her  mother. 

Her  great  grand  parents  were  not  living.  Alas,  no. 
The  cold  clods  rattled  on  the  coffins  of  those  estimable 
people  when  Margueritte  was  young.  She  was  not 
acquainted  with  the  fact  until  the  good  people  had  been 
dead  some  seventy-five  years. 

Then  kind  friends,  whose  hearts  were  torn  and  rifted 
with  sympathy,  broke  the  news  gently  to  her. 

She  sat  like  one  stunned.  Over  her  marble  face  there 
passed  no  trace  of  the  emotion  which  raged  like  a  high 
fed  cyclone  in  her  soul.     She  said  : 

"  Did  they  leave  me  anything?  " 


174  RJSE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

And  they  told  her,  "  Not  a  stiver,  dear,  not  a  lone 
nickel ;  not  a  street  car  check ;  not  a  solitary  red,  red 
cent.  Only  an  old  photograph  album  with  the  covers 
torn  off  and  the  pictures  lost.     You  are  badly  left." 

And  then  the  fountains  of  the  deep  were  broken  up 
and  she  wailed  in  the  bitterness  of  her  agony. 

"  Why,  oh,  why  did  they  die .''  Why  did  they  die  ? 
Why  did  they  die  and  leave  me, —  leave  me  —  leave  me 
nothing  .-*  " 

A  deep  manly  voice,  resonant  as  a  vesper  bell  when  it 
is  peeling  for  the  fray,  answered  from  the  next  room. 

"  I  give  it  up." 

Let  us  draw  a  veil  over  the  dreadful  scene. 

CHAPTER    HI. 

Bertrande  Hautville  Montaigne  du  Biffington  was  not 
an  orphan. 

He  was  an  Ancient  and  Excepted  Odd  Fellow. 

He  was  of  a  noble  and  numerous  parentage.  He  had 
one  mother,  and  she  was  a  Chicago  printcess.  She  used 
to  hold  brevier  cases  on  T/i^  Daily  Tomahawk.  She  had 
ten  divorces,  neatly  framed,  hanging  up  in  her  parlor, 
and  Bertrande,  whose  own  original  father  had  died  of  an 
hereditary  attack  of  arsenic  in  the  soup  while  his  divorce 
suit  was  pending,  was  successively  flogged  by  an  illus- 
trious line  of  paternal  incumbents,  and  acknowledged  the 
sway  of  one  father,  full  rank,  and  ten  fathers  by  brevet. 
He  loved  the  lonely  orphan,  who  had  no  parents  what- 
ever, from  a  sense  of  natural  duty  and  justice,  to  kind  of 
even  the  thing  up  and  strike  an  e(]uitable  average. 

CHAPTER    IV, 

There  is  only  one  place  where  nature  does  not  abhor 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYE  lEMS.  I  75 

a  vacuum.     That  is  under  a  Congressman's  hat. 

CHAPTER    V. 

Night  had  come.  It  got  in  on  the  evening  train,  and 
was  late,  as  usual.  The  drowsy  bat  was  on  the  wing;  or 
rather,  the  wing  was  on  the  drowsy  bat.  Both  wings,  in 
fact,  were  on  the  d.  b.  Down  in  the  mossy  glade,  where 
deepening  shadows  mock  the  starlight's  gleam,  she 
waits.  Her  Italian  marble  brow  is  clouded  with  a 
weight  of  sorrow.  Her  finely-chiseled  chin  is  still;  the 
plastic  chewing-gum,  pasted  on  the  trunk  of  a  rugged 
oak,  cools  and  hardens  in  the  evening  air.  The  firm 
tread  of  a  manly  No.  9  comes  crashing  through  the  wood- 
land. 

'Tis  he. 

'*  Bertrande !  " 

'*  Margueritte ! " 

They  said  no  more.  They  could  not.  They  had  for- 
gotten the  rest  of  each  other's  names.  They  sat  in  the 
deeping  shadows  of  the  gloaming,  holding  each  other's 
hands,  and  trying  to  think  of  something  nice  to  say. 

Suddenly  his  delicate  nostrils  quivered  and  trembled 
with  a  startled  light. 

"  Margueritte  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  we  must  fly  !  I  hear 
the  sound  of  native  applejack  upon  the  evening  air! 
M'fflm'ff!" 

"  Oh,  hevings !  "  she  cried,  "  it  is,  it  is  me  long  lost 
fiithyer !  " 

"Then,"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  a  UnUed  States  regu- 
lation cavalry  saber  from  his  bosom,  "  I  am  lost!  ' 

"  Oh,  no,  not  lost ;  "  she  said  in  earnest  tones,  "  go 
straight  ahead  till  you  come  to  the  Hmvkeye  office,  then 
turn  up  Market  Street  two  blocks  and  follow  the  street 
car  track  south   until  you  smell  beer.     Then  you   will 


176  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

know   where   you    are.      Fe-ly!      Fe-ly!      Me    fathyer 
comes." 

"  Methought,"  he  said,  pausing  in  his  flight,  and 
speaking  sternly,  "  Methought  thou  haddedest  not  a 
father." 

"  I  haive,  I  haive,"  she  shrieked,  "and  it  is  he!  " 

And  as  she  spake  a  fatherly  looking  man  parted  the 
bushes  and  stood  by  her  side.  He  was  clad  in  a  dark 
blue  cut-away  coat,  with  a  button-hole  bouquet,  white 
vest,  lilac  kids,  lavender  pants,  a  pink  neck-tie,  waxed 
mustache,  and  a  high  hat.  His  boots  were  four  and  a 
half;  his  snowy  handkerchief  was  perfumed  with  jockey 
club,  and  his  breath  with  whisky  sour.  He  was  twenty- 
one  years  of  old. 

Bertrande  regarded  him  sadly,  and  said  to  her  he 
loved : 

"  It  seems  to  me  your  father  is  rather  juvenile." 

"  Dear  Bertrande,"  she  said,  laying  her  head  upon  her 
father's  shoulder,  "  he  married  awful  young." 

"Ah,"  said  Bertrande,  bitterly,  "  I  thought  may  be  you 
had  adopted  him." 

And  turning  on  his  heel  he  was  gone. 
*  *  *  ^  *  4t  * 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  177 


A  REMINISCENCE  OF  EXHIBITION  DAY. 


"\X7ELL,   no,"  the  boy  said,  "  the    thing    didn't  go 

V  V  off  exactly  as  I  expected.  You  see,  I  was  the 
sixth  boy  in  the  class,  that  was  next  to  the  head  when 
the  class  formed  left  in  front,  and  1  was  pretty  near  the 
first  boy  called  on  to  declaim.  I  had  got  a  mighty  good 
ready  and  had  a  bully  piece  too.     Ah,  it  was  a  rip  staver." 

And  the  boy  sighed  as  lie  paused  to  lift  a  segment  out 
of  a  green  apple,  and  placed  it  where  it  would  do  the 
most  good,  for  a  cholera  doctor.  We  asked  what  piece 
it  was. 

'•  Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators,"  he  said.  "  Just  an  old 
he  raker  of  a  piece.  I  got  it  all  by  heart,  and  used  to 
go  clear  out  to  the  Cascade  to  rehearse  and  hook  straw- 
berries. Old  Fitch  "  —  Mr.  Fitch  was  the  boy's  preceptor, 
one  of  the  finest  educators  in  the  state  —  *'  he  taught  me 
all  the  gestures  and  inflections  and  flub  drubs,  and  said 
I  was  just  layin'  over  the  biggest  toad  in  the  puddle " 

"  Excelling  all  your  competitors,  probably  Mr.  Fitch 
said,"  we  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  the  boy  replied,  "  he's  a  toney  old  cyclopedia 
on  the  patter,  is  old  Fitchy.  But  him  and  me  was  both 
dead  sure  I  was  goin'  to  skin  the  rag  off  the  bush " 

"  Win  all  the  honors,"  we  gently  corrected. 

"  Yes,"   he   said,  "  and  the   way  it  went  off"  was  bad. 

You  see,  I  didn't  feel  easy  in  my  Sunday  clothes  on  a 

week  day  to  begin  with.     And  my  collar  was  too  tight 

and  my  necktie  was  too  blue,  and  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get 

off  early,  so  I  only  blacked  the  toes  of  my  boots,  and  left 
IS 


178  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

the  heels  as  red  as  a  concert  ticket.  And  the  crowd 
there  was  in  the  school -house.  Jammed.  Everybody 
in  their  good  clothes  and  every  body  looking  solemn  as 
Monday  morning.  When  my  name  was  called  something 
came  up  in  my  throat  as  big  as  a  foot -ball.  I  couldn't 
swallow  it  and  I  couldn't  spit  it  out.  And  when  I  got 
up  on  the  platform  —  oh,  Godfrey's  cordial!  did  you 
ever  see  a  million  heads  without  any  bodies.-*" 

We  felt  ashamed  of  our  limited  experience  while  we 
confessed  that  we  could  not  recall  having  witnessed  such 
a  phenomenon. 

"  I  never  did  till  then,"  the  boy  went  on,  "  but  they 
were  there,  for  a  fact,  and  I  began  to  remember  when 
these  heads  danced  round  and  round  the  room  that  I  had 
been  forgetting  my  piece  in  the  last  five  minutes  just  as 
fast  as  I  ever  forgot  to  fix  the  kindling  wood  at  night. 
But  I  commenced.  I  got  along  with  'It  had  been  a 
day  of  triumph  in  Capua  *  and  '  Lentulus  returning 
with  victorious  eagles  '  and  all  that  Avell  enough,  but 
when  I  got  on  into  the  heavy  business,  I  was  left,  sure. 
If  Spartacus  had  talked  to  the  gladiators  as  I  did,  they 
would  have  thought  he  was  drunk  and  hustled  him  off  to 
bed.  It  was  awful.  I  stumbled  along  until  I  came  to 
'  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants  as  ye  are.  The  strength 
of  brass  is  in  your  rugged  sinews,  but '  to  -  morrow  some 
Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  perfume  from  his  curl  ng 
locks,  will  with  his  dainty  fingers  pat  your  red  brawn 
and  bet  his  sesterces  upon  your  blood.-*  " 

"That  was  excellent,  capital,"  we  said,  applauding,  for 
the  boy  had  growled  off  the  last  sentence  like  a  first 
heavy  villain. 

"Oh  yes,  is  it  though.'*"  he  said,  with  some  asperity. 
"Well,  that's  the  way  I  was  going  to  say  it  that  Friday, 
but  what  I  did  say  was,  'The   strength  of  brass  is  in 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  1 79 

your  rugged  sinews,  but  to-morrow  afternoon  (you  see  I 
got  to  thinking  of  a  base  ball  match)  some  Doman  Aronis 
breathing  sweet  perfumery  from  his  curly  socks,  will  pat 
your  bed  rawn  and  bet  his  sister  sees  your  blood.'  " 

"Did  they  laugh?"  we  asked. 

"Oh  no!"  he  replied,  with  an  inflection  that  type 
won't  take.  "Oh,  no;  they  never  smiled  again;  ihey 
didn't.  It  was  when  I  got  down  a  little  that  they  felt 
bad.  When  he  says,  '  If  ye  are  beasts,  then  stand  here 
waiting  like  fat  oxen  for  the  butcher's  knife.'  I  told 
them,  '  If  ye  be  cat  fattle,  then  wait  here  standing  like  i 
butcher  for  the  carving  knife.'  And  I  got  worse  and 
worse  until  it  came  to  this,  '  Oh,  Rome,  Rome,  thou  hast 
been  a  tender  mother  to  me.  Thou  hast  taught  the 
poor  timid  shepherd  boy,  who  never  knew  a  harsher  tone 
than  a  flute  note,  to  gaze  into  the  glaring  eyeballs  of  the 
fierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a  boy  upon  a  laughing 
girl.  Tliju  hast  taught  him  to  drive  the  sword  through 
rugged  links  of  mail  and  brass  and  warm  it  in  the  mar- 
row of  his  foe  !  " 

"Bravo  !  '  we  shouted. 

"Cheese  it,"  he  said,  sententiously;  "  I  didn't  say  it 
just  that  way.  I  said,  '  Oh  Rome,  thou  has  ten  a  binder 
mother  to  me.  Thou  hast  taught  the  poor  boy  who 
never  knew  a  sheep  note  to  glare  into  the  laughing  ear 
of  a  fierce  Numidian  eyeball  even  as  a  lyin'  boy  at  a 
girl.  Thou  hast  taught  him  to  mail  his  ragged  brass 
through  swords  of  link,  and  marry  it  in  the  warmer  of 
his  foe." 

"And  then?"  we  asked. 

"  I  cried,"  he  said,  "and  went  down  Everybody  was 
cry'n'.  They  all  had  their  faces  in  their  handkerchiefs 
or  behind  fans,  and  were  shaking  so  it  nearly  jarred  the 
school  house." 


l8o  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE^ 

"You  should  practice  elocution  during  vacation,"  we 
suggested,  "  and  you  will  not  fail  again." 

He  bolted  the  rest  of  the  green  apple,  threw  his  bare 
feet  up  in  the  air,  and  walked  around  on  his  hands  in 
little  circles.  "Don't  have  no  speakin' in  vacation,"  he 
said. 

And  we  knew  that,  boy-like,  he  was  going  to  let  the 
day  and  the  morrow  take  care  each  of  its  own  evils, 
and  we  wondered  as  we  came  away  how  many  fathers 
would  recognize  their  own  boys  in  the  hero  of  this 
sketch,  and  if  dear  old  Fitch,  the  ol  lest  boy,  with  the 
clearest  head  and  the  tenderest  heart  we  ever  knew, 
would  remember  him. 


MR.  OLENDORF'S   COMPLAINT. 


YOUNG  Mr.  Olendorf  used  to  board  at  a  nice  board- 
ing house  out  on  North  Hill,  a  little  this  side  of  the 
North  Pole.  It  was  a  good  way  out;  but  Mr.  Olendorf 
always  was  fond  of  pure  air  and  pedestrian  exercise,  and 
as  his  business  hours  were  easy,  he  preferred  the  com- 
forts of  a  home  in  the  suburbs  to  the  excitement  and 
clamor  of  a  down-town  hotel.  A  mild-looking,  meek- 
faced,  soft-voiced  young  man  was  Mr.  Olendorf,  as  ever 
you  could  wish  to  see.  He  rarely  complained  about 
anything,  and  he  never  spoke  harshly  of  any  one.  He 
would  sit  on  his  trunk,  when  the  family  had  carried  his 
chair  down  to  the  parlor  for  the  convenience  of  invited 
guests;  and  he  would  patiently  sew  on  his  shirt-buttons 
with  a  darning-needle   and    carpet   thread,   rather  than 


OLENDORF'S  COMPLAINT. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  l8l 

intimate  to  his  washer-lady  that  it  wasn't  just  the  thing 
to  run  fine  shirts  through  a  corn-sheller  to  wash  them. 
Many  a  time  he  crawled  into  a  bed  that  looked  like  the 
crater  of  an  extinct  volcano,  rather  than  report  the  hired 
girl  for  neglecting  to  make  it  up.  And  six  times  a  week 
he  cleaned  his  grimy  lamp-chimney  with  his  fingers,  as 
far  as  they  would  reach,  because,  he  said,  in  the  fullness 
of  his  charitable  soul,  the  girl  had  so  much  to  do  she 
hadn't  got  round  to  it.  And  the  seventh  night  in  the 
week,  the  lamp  being  empty  and  dry  as  a  flat  bottle 
on  a  hunting  expedition,  he  would  undress  by  the  dim 
religious  light  of  a  match.  Hs  used  to  wash  with  a  piece 
of  soap  four  inches  long  and  two  inches  thick,  as  brown 
as  varnish,  and  so  hard  it  chipped  the  edges  of  the  wash- 
stand  when  it  was , carelessly  dropped;  and  often  and 
often,  when  his  eyes  were  full  of  soap,  and  he  reached 
out  his  imploring  hands,  groping  for  the  short,  thin  towel 
that  was  seldom  there,  he  had  to  feel  his  way  to  the  bed, 
abrading  his  shins  against  things  that  he  couldn't  see  and 
didn't  know  the  names  of,  and  dry  his  face  and  hair  on  the 
pillow-slips.  But  he  never  murmured.  He  used  to  find 
bright  streaks  of  red  by  the  dozen  in  his  pomade,  and  go 
down  to  the  breakfast  table  with  his  own  coal-black 
locks  as  dry  as  good  advice,  and  marvel  at  the  exceeding 
glossiness  and  slickness  of  the  hired  girl's  bright  auburn 
cranium.  But  he  said  never  a  word.  And  the  drouth, 
used  to  strike  his  perfumery  bottles  once  in  a  while,  and 
leave  them  as  empty  as  a  lecturer's  head;  and  he  would 
wind  his  modest  nasal  horn  in  a  handkerchief  that 
smelled  like  a  washtub,  and  when  his  landlady's  daugh- 
ters sailed  scornfully  past  him,  perfumed  for  all  the  world 
like  the  ghosts  of  his  toilet  bottles  up  stairs,  he  never 
looked  suspicious,  but  only  smiled  apologetically,  as 
though  it  was  wrong  in  him  tO  leave  temptation  in  their 


l82  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSIACHE, 

way,  And*once,  when  he  had  an  attack  of  cholera 
morbus,  and  sent  out  for  a  quart  of  brandy,  and  took  a 
tablespoonful  of  it,  and  came  back  at  night  to  find  the 
bottle  very  empty,  and  the  landlady's  husband  very  full, 
and  lying  in  Mr.  Olendorf 's  bed  with  his  boots  on,  young 
Mr.  Olendorf  only  agreed  with  the  landlady  that  it  was 
very  singular,  and  that  the  old  man  must  be  ill.  So  you 
see  Mr.  Olendorf  was  inclined  to  be  rather  peaceable  and 
meek,  and  when  he  did  complain  there  must  be  some 
reason  for  it. 

One  evening  Mrs  McKerrel,  his  landlady,  approached 
the  young  man  for  the  purpose  of  securing  the  weekly 
dole  which  he  paid  for  the  comforts  of  a  home,  and 
bracing  himself  up  by  a  desperate  effort,  Mr.  Olendorf, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  complained. 

"  It's  the  hash,  Mrs.  McKerrel,"  he  said  plaintively. 
"  It's  too  monotonous.  It's  good  hash.  I  can't  say  that 
it  isn't  good.  It  is  more  nutritious  than  chopped  straw, 
and  a  prize  candy  package  doesn't  equal  it  for  variety. 
But  I  want  change.  I  like  hash  for  breakfast.  But 
when  you  give  us  baked  hash  for  dinner,  and  put  boned 
hash  on  for  supper,  and  give  us  plain  hash  again  for 
breakfast,  and  serve  stuffed  hash  again  for  dinner,  it  isn't 
a  square  deal.  I  believe  you  impose  on  us.  1  never 
heard  of  '  stuffed  hash  '  before  1  came  here,  and  the 
only  difference  between  it  and  the  common  kind  is  that 
it  is  thinner.  The  last  'stuffed  hash  '  you  gave  us  you 
made  us  eat  with  steel  forks,  and  it  was  as  thin  as  soup, 
and  how  is  a  strong  man  going  to  make  out  a  diniler 
when  he  has  only  twenty-five  minutes  in  which  to  cat 
soup  with  a  three-tined  fork.^  And  I  don't  think  you  do 
the  fair  thing  by  us  on  what  you  call  '  boned  hash.'  It's 
hardly  right,  Mrs.  McKerrel,  to  make  a  hash  of  sardines 
and   herrings   and  then    call  it  'boned.'      It's  just  like 


AND    OTHtlR    HAWK  -  EYETEM3.  lS^ 

eating  a  shoe  brush.  Now  there  ought  to  be,  once  in  a 
while,  a  change.  Not  too  often,  you  know ;  1  don't 
expect  you  to  keep  a  French  restaurant  for  seven  dollars 
a  week,  but  just  often  enough  to  keep  the  bill  of  fare 
from  growing  tiresome.  Say  once  every  seven  years. 
For  instance,  you  may  have  '  boned  hash '  to-morrow 
for  dinner,  which,  it  being  Sunday,  you  will.  \Vell,  then, 
)ou  might  have  'boned  hash'  every  day  until  1882,  and 
then  give  us  a  roast,  or  a  car-spring  chicken.  And  so 
with  'stuffed  hash,'  and  'hash  a  la  mode,'  and  'hash  a 
la  Mayonnais,'  '  Lady  Washington  hash,'  'hash  on  toast,' 
'  spring  hash,  with  mint  sauce,'  and  'hash  a  la  mortar,' 
and  the  other  hashes  on  your  bill  of  fare.  By  serving 
them  up  once  every  seven  years,  you  have  enough  kinds 
to  run  clear  into  a  Centennial." 

The  landlady,  looking  aghast,  made  an  effort  to  speak, 
but  young  Mr.  Olendorf  motioned  her  to  silence. 

"And  if  you  would  speak  to  Mrs.  Muldoon,  dear  Mrs. 
McKerrel,"  he  went  on,  "  and  tell  her  that,  while  I  am 
not  proud,  I  do  not  consider  the  hickory  shirts  which  the 
estimable  Mr.  Muldoon  wears  while  he  is  developing  the 
railroad  resources  of  the  United  States  exactly  the 
things  to  wear  to  church  ;  and  even  if  I  had  no  other 
scruples  against  attending  public  worship  in  a  section 
hand's  shirt,  torn  all  the  way  across  the  shoulders  and 
fastened  at  the  neck  and  cuffs  with  horn  buttons,  Mr. 
Muldoon 's  are  five  sizes  too  large  for  me,  and  I  would 
rather  she  would  send  me  my  own.  And  if  you  can 
bribe  her  to  put  the  starch  in  my  collars  instead  of  my 
handkerchiefs,  I  feel  that  it  will  improve  the  appearance 
of  my  neck,  and  spare  the  feelings  of  a  lacerated  and 
tender  nose.  No  man,  Mrs.  McKerrel,  can  wipe  his 
nose  on  a  sheet  of  tin  and  do  the  matter  justice." 

Mrs    McKerrel  placed  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  stood 


184  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

up,  but  Mr.  Olendorf  begged  her  to  be  patient  just  a 
moment,  while  he  went  on : 

"  And  do  you  think,  if  I  made  a  chalk  mark  on  them, 
that  your  domestic  could  learn  the  difference  between 
my  hair  brush  and  my  shoe  brush  ?  And  if  T  made  her 
a  little  present,  might  she  not  be  induced  to  look  up 
something  else  to  black  the  stoves  with  instead  of  my 
shoe  brush?  It  is  dreadfully  mortifying,  Mrs.  McKerrel, 
to  black  your  shoes  after  night  and  get  clear  in  church 
the  next  morning  before  discovering  that  your  feet  are 
glistening  in  all  the  glory  of  'Plumbago's  New  Silver 
Gray  Luster,'  and  everybody  is  laughing  at  you.  And 
then,  Mrs.  McKerrel,  I  don't  know  how  my  things  get  so 
full  of  snuff.  I  never  use  snuff,  and  I  don't  want  to 
complain,  but " 

Here  the  exasperated  matron  could  restrain  herself  no 
longer.  Hastily  thrusting  her  snuff-box  back  in  her  pocket, 
she  bade  Mr.  Olendorf  pack.  What  he  wanted,  she  said, 
was  a  Fifth  Avenue  hotel  for  seven  dollars  a  week,  and 
he  couldn't  have  it  in  her  house.  He  was  too  particular 
for  such  a  plain  woman  as  her;  if  he  didn't  like  the  ways 
of  plain  people,  he  would  have  to  go  where  they  were 
nicer.  He  was  too  stuck  up  and  fussy  to  live  in  her 
house.  Boarders  she  had  kept,  of  the  very  best  people 
in  the  highest  classes  in  society,  and  this  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  heard  a  word  of  complaint  in  her  house. 

And  that  is  the  way  Mr.  Olendorf  happened  to  call 
around  at  the  Gorham  and  ask  Andrews  for  a  nice  room, 
a  long  ways  up.  And  Andrews  gave  him  a  key  and  told 
him  to  climb  till  he  knew  he  was  lost,  and  then  crawl 
into  the  first  bed  he  saw. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  185 


RURAL    FELICITY. 


MR.  PHILETUS  R.  THROOP  is  a  well  known  in- 
surance agent  of  Burlington.  He  is  a  perfect 
steam  engine  to  work,  and  every  Summer,  when  he  feels 
about  worn  out  by  his  labors,  he  goes  out  to  the  farm  of 
his  Uncle  George  and  rests  a  couple  of  weeks.  He 
went  out  last  Summer,  as  usual,  but  he  only  remained  a 
couple  of  days,  and  on  his  return  he  was  heard  to  say 
that  he  would  never,  never,  never,  go  into  the  country 
again  if  he  died  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  The  causes 
which  led  to  this  determination  were  as  follows  : 

You  see,  he  got  a  late  start  on  his  last  trip  out  into  the 
country,  so  that  when  he  reached  his  Uncle  George's 
farm  it  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  the 
family,  after  the  good  old-fashioned  custom,  had  gone  to 
bed;  not  a  light  was  visible  about  the  house.  Mr. 
Throop  got  out  of  the  wagon  in  which  a  neighboring 
farmer  had  brought  him,  before  they  reached  the  house, 
so  that  the  noisy  wheels  would  not  apprise  any  waking 
member  of  the  fact  that  a  visitor  had  come.  Then  he 
climbed  over  the  fence  and  skipped  briskly  across  lots  to 
reach  the  house,  and  give  Uncle  George  and  the  family 
a  good  surprise.  Mr.  Throop  was  not  so  familiar  with 
the  farm  as  he  ought  to  have  been  to  attempt  such  a 
nocturnal  expedition.  He  had  not  gone  twenty  steps 
before  he  stepped  into  a  great  ditch,  and  had  time  to  say 
all  he  could  remember  of  the  child's  prayer,  "  Now  I  lay 
me,"  before  he  reached  the  bottom,  and  then  had  plenty 
of  time  to  compose  and  repeat  a  much  more  appropriate 


l86  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

and  longer  one  before  he  crawled  out  again.  After  that 
he  went  more  slowly,  picking  his  steps  with  the  greatest 
care,  and  straining  his  eyes  as  he  peered  into  the  dark- 
ness to  distinguish  noxious  objects.  But  it  was  very 
dark,  and  of  course  appearances  were  unusually  deceit- 
ful. He  would  walk  around  a  patch  of  young  clover  or 
luxuriant  turf,  his  heart  standing  still  the  while  with  the 
terror  of  having  so  narrowly  escaped  walking  into  a 
great  well,  and  the  next  minute  he  would,  after  peering 
ahead  of  him  until  his  eyes  ached  and  sparks  of  fire 
danced  before  them,  walk  with  the  greatest  confidence 
and  composure  into  a  pile  of  last  year's  peabrush  seven 
feet  high,  knocking  off  his  hat,  scratching  his  face  and 
tearing  his  clothes.  And  then  such  a  time  as  he  would 
have  hunting  for  his  hat,  and  all  the  imaginable  and  un- 
imaginable things  that  he  would  pick  up  in  mistake  for 
that  useful  article  of  apparel,  can  be  far  better  imagined 
than  described.  And  once  he  ran  into  a  fence  and 
nearly  put  his  eye  out  on  the  end  of  a  great  stake  that 
was  standing  out  like  the  point  of  a  chevaux  de  /rise. 
And  just  before  he  got  to  the  barn -yard  he  was  amazed 
to  discern  a  creek  flowing  between  him  and  the  fence, 
and  after  vainly  hunting  in  the  dark  for  a  bridge,  he 
pulled  off  his  boots  and  trousers,  and,  holding  the  bundle 
of  clothes  high  in  his  arms,  waded  across  a  stubblefield ! 
so  dry,  every  foot  of  it,  that  he  might  have  lighted  a 
match  on  it  anywhere.  He  thought  every  tooth  he  had 
would  chatter  out  of  his  head  before  he  could  get  into 
his  clothes  again.  Then  he  got  into  the  barn  -yard.  He 
knew  it  was  the  barn -yard  after  he  got  into  it,  because 
in  less  than  a  minute  after  he  had  climbed  the  fence,  he 
fell  over  a  slumbering  cow,  and  before  he  could  get  up, 
the  frightened  animal  rose  to  her  feet  and  bucked  Mr. 
Throop  over  her   head.     Then   he  heard  a  cow  get   up 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  187 

just  before  him,  and  another  just  behind  him,  and 
two  or  three  to  the  right  and  left,  and  when  a  cow 
with  a  bell  that  could  be  heard  two  miles  got  up 
and  began  galloping  around  the  yard  stirring  up  the 
rest  of  the  cows,  Mr.  Throop  would  have  willingly 
given  up  the  best  risk  he  had  ever  taken  for  a  lantern. 
It  wasn't  safe  to  stand  still,  so  he  took  his  hat  in  his 
hand  and  went  along,  swooping  it  around  him  in  great 
circles,  shouting  "'Swoosh!  Hi!  Hooey!  Scat!  Whish ! 
Whoosh!  Ste-boy!  "  as  he  went  along.  He  only  hit  one 
cow  with  his  hat,  however,  and  the  animal  thus  rudely 
assailed  reached  out  and  kicked  him  in  the  groin  and 
doubled  him  up,  and  with  a  farewell  flourish  hit  him  on 
the  side  of  the  face  with  the  end  of  a  tail  so  full  of 
cockle  burs  that  it  weighed  twenty -seven  ])ounds  and 
knocked  him  so  flat  he  thought  he  never  would  want  to 
get  up  again.  Then  he  saw  what  he  supposed  was  the 
house,  looming  up  black  and  quiet  before  him,  and  he 
thought  his  troubles  were  over.     They  had  just  begun. 

The  next  minute  he  stepped  under  an  open  shed  where 
the  agricultural  implements  had  been  stored  during  the 
Winter.  The  first  intimation  he  had  of  this  was  by 
falling  over  a  plow.  He  scraped  both  shins,  from  the 
instep  to  the  knee,  across  the  edge  of  the  share,  and  one 
of  the  handles  caught  him  under  the  chin  and  jabbed  his 
head  up  and  back  so  suddenly  that  he  heard  his  neck 
crack,  and  the  other  hunched  him  in  the  floating  ribs  and 
knocked  enough  breath  out  of  him  to  start  a  tornado,  in 
a  small  way  but  on  a  safe  basis.  He  thought  he  never 
would  get  away  from  that  plow,  for  he  no  sooner  got  one 
leg  out  of  one  entanglement  of  draught -irons,  coulter, 
share  and  handles,  than  he  got  the  other  one  snarled  up 
in  a  still  more  hopeless  maze  of  mould -board,  clevis, 
sole -plate  and  beam,  besides  several  other  parts  that  he 


l88  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE 

didn't  know  the  names  of.  And  when  at  last  he  van- 
quished the  plow  he  lost  himself  in  a  cultivator,  and 
wore  himself  out  trying  to  crawl  through  the  gang  of 
coulters.  When  he  got  clear  of  that  he  fell  in  with  a 
reaper  and  mower,  and  after  prodding  his  instep  into 
indescribable  agony  by  thrusting  it  against  the  sickle 
guards  as  he  fell,  he  caught  hold  of  the  reel,  which, 
of  course,  immediately  whirled  with  his  weight.  But  it 
chanced  that  quite  a  large  colony  of  barn -yard  fowls  had 
used  the  reel  as  their  roosting  place  during  the  Winter, 
and  as  it  whirled  round  the  amazed  and  bewildered  Mr. 
Throop  rained  down  upon  himself  a  terrific  tempest  of 
hens  and  roosters,  Brahmas,  light  Cochins,  ungainly 
Shanghais,  and  a  variety  of  other  breeds  in  such  a  tumult 
of  squawkings  and  cacklings,  and  flappings  of  wings,  and 
vague  but  vigorous  clawings  of  feet,  that  he  didn't  care 
whether  he  got  out  alive  or  not,  and,  indeed,  before  he 
got  through  with  the  reel  he  knocked  himself  down  with 
its  vindictive  slats  seven  times.  Then  he  got  away  from 
that  and  impaled  himself  on  a  horse  rake,  and  fell  over 
the  handle  of  a  fanning  mill,  and  nearly  killed  himself  in 
the  horse  power  of  a  thrashing  machine,  and  finally  got 
into  the  house  yard,  felt  his  way  to  the  house,  and  fell 
exhausted  and  speechless  against  the  front  door  with  a 
diamond-  shaped  harrow  hanging  around  his  neck.  And 
Uncle  George,  awakened  by  the  thump  at  the  door, 
opened  an  up -stairs  window  and  demanded  who  was 
there,  and  receiving  no  answer  shot  twice  at  the  recum- 
bent form  of  Mr.  Throop  with  his  revolver.  And  when 
they  came  down  with  lights  and  opened  the  door,  they 
were  as  greatly  surprised  as  Mr.  Throop  could  have 
wished. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  189 


THE   GARDEN    OF    THE    GODS. 


THE  people  around  Barnes  Street  well  remember 
when  Mr.  Middlerib  planted  the  "  garden  of  the 
gods."  He  bought  cartloads  of  rich  earth  for  it,  and 
loaded  it  with  patent  fertilizers,  and  ground  and  stirred 
and  raked  it  until  the  soil  was  fine  as  corn  meal.  The 
seeds  were  received  by  express,  and  there  wasn't  a 
package  that  didn't  have  a  full  college  course  of  Latin 
printed  on  the  back,  and  Mr.  Middlerib  grew  bald  trying 
to  pronounce  the  fearful  and  wonderful  names  of  the 
seed,  that  were  to  make  the  garden  of  the  gods  the  won- 
der of  South  Hill.  When  these  germs  of  magnificent 
flora  were  planted  the  neighbors  hung  over  the  fence  in 
silent  admiration  and  listened  to  Mr.  Middlerib's  botanical 
lectures,  delivered  over  every  package  that  was  opened. 
Where  the  abolutus  haciedendus  microbulus  was  imbedded, 
he  erected  a  large  trestle  immediately,  for  that  impetuous 
climber  to  ascend  and  ramble  over.  And  where  he  im- 
plar^ted  the  diocantanean  psyttachineliensis  psoddiujfi^  he 
reared  a  tall,  straight  stick  for  that  towering  mass  of 
blossom  and  foliage  to  shape  itself  against.  He  refused 
the  most  penetrating  hints  for  a  few  seeds  of  the  bianthus 
geridtan  psottoliensis  giasticuSy  floridens  biithus,  and  the  care 
and  great  gravity  with  which  he  earthed  the  germs  of  the 
bibulus  Burlingtoniensis  giganteus  brought  tears  to  the  eyes 
of  the  women.  And  when  the  seeds  were  all  planted, 
how  zealously  Mr.  Middlerib  watched  and  wrought  and 
fought  for  their  protection.  He  would  get  up  in  the 
night  to  chase  the  neighbors'  cows  around  the  house  two 


190  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

or  three  times,  and  across  the  garden  of  the  gods  four  or 
five  times,  and  out  of  the  front  gate  once,  a  id  return  to 
his  virtuous  couch  with  profanity  in  his  heart  and  mud 
on  his  feet,  and  one  slipper  down  by  the  cistern  and  the 
other  in  the  verbena  bed. 

All  the  cut-worms  in  the  State  of  Iowa  appeared  to  be 
attending  a  mass  convention  in  the  garden  of  the  gods. 
When  the  tinner  came  to  fix  the  spout,  he  stuck  the  lad- 
der by  which  he  ascended  to  the  roof  in  that  sacred 
ground,  and  the  carpenter  who  patched  the  cornice  set 
one  of  his  trestles  in  the  same  place.  Every  tramp  who 
came  to  beg,  selected  that  one  favored  locality  as  the 
only  spot  in  the  world  where  he  might  assume  the  usual 
humble  and  respectful  position,  and  rehearse  the  stereo- 
typed application  for  provender.  Mr.  Middlerib  nearly 
wore  out  his  voice  shouting  at  people  and  cows,  and 
railing  at  cut-worms,  and  one  Sunday  morning  he  fell 
asleep  in  church,  and  Mrs.  M.  prodded  him  with  hef 
parasol  just  as  the  minister  said,  in  impressive  accents, 
"And  here  we  are  treading  on  sacred  ground."  "  Git  off 
of  it!  "yelled  Mr.  Middlerib,  dreaming  of  the  grocer's 
boy  standing  on  the  g.  o.  g.,  and  using  his  oft-re^)eated 
phrase,  "  Scatter,  or  I'll  bury  ye  in  it !  "  And  it  raised 
such  a  church  scandal  that  Mr.  Middlerib  was  obliged 
to  double  his  subscription  to  keep  in  gjod  fellowship. 

But  after  manifold  troubles,  the  garden  came  along 
beautifully,  only  the  plants  acted  a  little  queer.  The 
climber  refused  to  climb,  save  in  a  horizontal  position, 
but  after  its  own  way ;  and  in  all  general  directions  on  a 
horizontal  plane  it  manifested  a  disposition  t  )  crowd  all 
over  that  part  of  South  Hill.  T\\q  diocantanean  psyttachi- 
neliensis  psoddium  scorned  the  straight  stick  by  which  it 
was  expected  to  brace  itself,  and  grew  out  in  crooked 
branches  like  a  garden  oak.     But  the  tender  care  it  re- 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I9I 

ceived,and  the  rich  earth  in  which  it  was  planted,  showed 
what  wonders  cultivation  will  do,  and  when,  at  last,  Mr. 
Middlerib,  after  long  and  manfully  holding  out  against 
the  declarations  of  the  envious  neighbors  and  the  hints 
of  his  wife  and  daughter,  was  obliged  to  sit  down  on  the 
porch,  one  lovely  Summer  evening,  and  admit  that  he 
had  wasted  enough  breath  to  make  a  tornado,  and  filled 
the  air  with  vociferous  and  murderous  threats  and 
vituperations,  and  quarreled  with  three-quarters  of  his 
acquaintances,  all  for  the  sake  of  raising  a  jimson  weed, 
it  was  nevertheless  a  jimson  weed  nine  feet  high,  with 
blossoms  as  big  as  inflated  sun -flowers.  So  he  let  the 
jimson  weed  stand,  and  argued  with  every  one  who  came 
to  the  house  that,  with  sufficient  care  and  proper  cultiva- 
tion, it  could  be  developed  into  a  fruit  -  bearing  tree.  A& 
for  the  abolutos  haciedendus  microbulos^  as  soon  as  he  was 
morally  and  botanically  certain  that  it  was  just  chick- 
weed,  Mr.  Middlerib  one  night  secretly  pulled  it  up  and 
threw  it  away,  and  ever  afterward  professed  to  be  heart- 
broken because  some  rascally,  envious  florist  had  come 
up  from  Keokuk  and  stolen  the  choicest  climber  in  the 
Mississippi  Valley.  The  bianthus  geridian  psottoliensis 
giasticus^floridens  bilthus  never  showed  itself  until  toward 
the  latter  part  of  June.  Then  it  thrust  up  a  delicate, 
fragile  little  sprout,  drank  in  a  little  of  the  glad  free  air 
and  pure  sunlight,  heard  itself  called  by  its  full  name, 
and  drooped  under  the  burden  and  died.  The  bibulus 
Burlingtoniensis  giganteus  came  up  and  did  well.  It  did 
not  flower  very  abundantly,  but  it  developed  very  marked 
qualities.  The  chickens  came  up  and  pecked  at  it,  and 
then  laid  them  down  under  the  currant  bushes  and  closed 
their  eyes  upon  this  world  of  sorrow  and  mysterious 
plants.  The  pigs  got  into  the  yard  and  rooted  a  little 
of  it  up,  and  their  sudden  demise  gave  rise  to  the  rumor 
14 


192  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

of  the  hog  cholera,  and  the  air  of  the  hill  was  vocal  for 
the  next  five  days  with  the  protests  of  healthy  porkers 
against  the  popular  modes  of  treating  the  hog  cholera, 
such  as  boring  holes  along  the  spine  with  a  red  hot  iron 
and  splitting  the  ears  and  tail  and  rubbing  in  salt  and 
cayenne  pepper.  And  after  Master  Middlerib  fooled 
with  it  and  got  some  of  it  on  his  face,  which  immediately 
swelled  up  so  that  nothing  was  visible  to  his  eyes,  and 
his  eyes  were  visible  to  nobody,  for  nearly  a  week,  the 
wonderful  plant  was  pulled  up  with  the  kitchen  tongs  and 
thrown  into  the  alley,  where  the  geese  of  South  Hill 
found  it,  ate  it,  grew  fat  on  it,  and  came  around  and  asked 
for  more.  Nothing  that  grows  under  the  heavens  can 
kill  a  South  Hill  goose. 

There  were  other  plants  in  the  garden  of  the  gods  that 
came  up  and  grew  to  maturity  and  brought  forth  blossoms 
each  after  his  kind,  but  as  they  turned  out  to  be  various 
species  of  rag -weed  and  dog- fennel,  they  were  not  con- 
sidered worthy  of  mention  by  Mr.  Middlerib.  But  he  is 
•disheartened  with  scientific  gardening,  and  he  only  lives 
now  for  one  object :  to  ascertain  whether  these  Latin 
names  are  really  the  scientific  names  of  those  plants 
which  they  set  forth,  or  he  was  swindled  by  the  travel- 
ing seed  agent. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  1 93 


A  TRYING  SITUATION. 


THERE  was  a  time  when  Mr.  Bilderback  was  almost 
persuaded  to  cut  off  his  pew  rent,  renounce  his 
religious  convictions,  and  become  an  atheist  or  a  pagan, 
he  wasn't  very  particular  which.  He  was  for  many 
weeks  in  great  distress  of  mind,  and  professed  the 
greatest  hatred  of  all  churches,  on  general  principles. 
This  state  of  affairs,  which  fortunately  was  not  perma- 
nent, was  brought  about  by  a  very  annoying,  though  per- 
fectly innocent  occurrence.  One  beautiful  but  rather 
warm  Sunday  morning  he  was  dozing  comfortably  in  his 
pew,  in  the  church  of  which  he  is  one  of  the  main 
sleepers,  when  he  became  aware  of  an  apparition  gliding 
solemnly  down  the  aisle  with  a  collection  basket  in  its 
hand.  Mr.  Bilderback  braced  up  into  an  erect  posture, 
cleared  his  throat  in  a  ponderous  tone  of  Roman  firm- 
ness, as  one  who  should  say,  "Who's  been  asleep .'*" 
And  as  the  basket  was  extended  toward  him,  he  felt  in 
his  trousers  pocket  for  his  wallet.  It  wasn't  there,  and 
as  he  withdrew  his  hand,  and  felt  in  the  other  pocket,  he 
felt  that  the  eyes  of  the  congregation  were  upon  him, 
and  that  was  all  he  felt,  for  he  certainly  didn't  feel  any 
pocket-book.  He  nodded  the  basket  man  to  wait  a  s^- 
ond,  and  leaned  over  to  the  left  while  he  felt  in  the  right 
inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  from  which  in  his  growing 
nervousness  he  drew  half  a  dozen  chestnuts  which  rolled 
over  the  floor  with  a  rattle  that  sounded  in  his  hot  ears 
like  the  thunders  of  the  Apocalypse,  and  made  him 
warmer  and  more  nervous  than  ever.     Then  he  leaned 


194  J^iSE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

over  the  end  of  the  pew  and  felt  in  the  other  inside 
coat  pocket  and  drew  out  a  bundle  of  letters,  a  lot 
of  postal  cards,  a  circus  ticket,  a  photograph  of  an 
actress,  a  funny  story  printed  on  a  card,  a  pocket 
comb  and  a  long  string,  and  his  face  grew  so  warm  his 
breath  felt  like  a  hot  air  blast.  Then  he  squared  his 
elbows  and  went  for  his  vest  pockets,  and  strewed  the 
pew  cushion  with  quill  toothpicks,  newspaper  scraps, 
street  car  checks,  a  shoe  buttoner,  some  lead  pencil  stubs, 
and  crumbling  indications  of  chewing  tobacco,  a  bit  of 
sealing  wax,  a  piece  of  licorice  root  about  an  inch  long, 
and  three  or  four  matches.  Then  he  leaned  forward  and, 
stung  to  madness  by  the  smiles  which  were  breaking  out 
all  around  that  church  worse  than  the  measles  in  a 
primary  school  room,  dived  into  his  coat  tail  pockets,  and 
drew  forth  a  red  silk  handkerchief,  two  apples,  a  spec- 
tacle case,  a  pair  of  dog  skin  gloves,  an  overcoat  button, 
and  a  fine  assortment  of  bits  of  dried  orange  peel  and 
lint.  Then  he  stood  up,  devoutly  praying  that  an  earth- 
quake might  come  along  and  swallow  up  either  him  or 
the  rest  of  the  congregation,  he  didn't  much  care  which, 
and  went  down  into  his  hip  pockets,  from  which  he 
evolved  a  revolver,  a  corkscrew,  a  cigar  case,  a  piece  of 
string,  a  memorandum  book,  and  a  pocket  knife.  By 
this  time  Mr.  Bilderback's  face  was  scarlet  clear  down  to 
his  waist,  and  he  was  so  nervous  and  worked  up  that  he 
nearly  shook  his  clothes  off,  while  the  man  with  the  bas- 
ket couldn't  have  moved  away,  if  he  had  died  for  staying. 
And  when  Mr.  Bilderback,  in  forlorn  despair,  once  more 
rammed  his  hand  into  the  trousers  pocket  where  he 
began  the  search,  the  congregation  held  its  breath,  and 
when  Mr.  Bilderback  drew  forth  the  very  pocket-book 
which  he  had  missed  in  his  first  careless  search,  and  had 
since  all  but  stripped  to  find,  there  was  a  sigh  of  relief 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I95 

went  up  from  every  devout  heart  in  that  house.  But 
Mr.  Bilderbackonly  dropped  into  liis  seat  with  an  abrupt- 
ness that  made  the  windows  rattle,  and  registered  a  men- 
tal vow  that  he  wasn't  going  to  come  out  to  church  again 
to  be  made  a  fool  of  by  a  man  with  a  long  handled  darn- 
ing basket. 


MR.  BILDERBACK  LOSES  HIS  HAT. 


"  IVT^'"  ^^'  ^'l<^^^^^c^  said,  "it  wasn't."     He  put  it 

1  11  there  last  night,  the  last  thing  before  he  went 
to  bed,  he  remembered  most  distinctly.  It  wasn't  there 
now,  and  he  didn't  know  who  had  any  business  to  move 
it.  Somebody  had  done  it,  and  he  hoped  to  gracious 
that  it  would  be  the  last  time.  Somebody  was  always 
meddling  with  his  things. 

Mrs.  Bilderback,  coming  down  stairs  with  a  weary  air, 
asked,  if  he  had  looked  in  the  closets  } 

"  Closets.^  "  Mr.  Bilderback  snarled,  "  Kingdom  of  Ire- 
land! Does  any  sane  man  put  his  hat  in  the  closets 
when  he  wants  it  every  time  he  goes  out }  No.  I  hung 
it  up  right  here,  on  this  very  hook  of  this  particular  rack, 
and  if  it  had  been  left  alone,  it  would  be  there  now. 
Some  of  you  must  have  moved  it.  It  hasn't  got  legs  and 
couldn't  get  away  alone." 

Master  Bilderback  suggested  that  it  wouldn't  beavery 
surprising  if  it  felt  its  way  along  fur  a  little  ways,  for 
which  atrocities  he  was  rewarded  with  a  wild  glare  and  a 
vicious  cuff  from  his  unappreciative  parent.  Then  Mr. 
Bilderback  said,  "  Well,  I  suppose  I  can  walk  down  town 
bareheaded." 


196  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Well,  that  was  the  usual  formula.  Every  body  knew 
just  what  it  meant,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  said  the  family 
scattered  for  the  regular  morning  search.  Mrs.  Bilder- 
back  looked  in  all  the  closets  with  the  air  of  John 
Rogers*  going  to  the  stake,  and  then  she  went  into  an  old 
chest,  that  had  the  furs  and  things  put  away  in  it,  and 
was  only  opened  twice  a  year,  except  when  Mr.  Bilder- 
back's  hat  was  lost,  which  occurred  on  an  average  three 
times  a  day.  She  shook  pepper  or  fine  cut  tobacco  or 
camphor  out  of  everything  she  picked  up,  and  varied  her 
search  by  the  most  extraordinary  sneezes  that  ever  issued 
from  human  throat,  while  ever  and  anon  she  paused  to 
wipe  her  weeping  eyes  and  say  that  "  well,  she  never." 
Mrs.  Bilderback's  search  for  the  lost  hat  never  got 
beyond  that  chest.  She  would  kneel  down  before  it  and 
take  the  things  out  one  by  one,  and  put  them  back,  and 
take  them  out,  and  sneeze  and  sigh,  and  wonder  occasion- 
ally "where  the  hat  could  be,"  but  her  search  never 
went  beyond  that  old  moth  proof  chest. 

Miss  Bilderback  confined  her  search  to  the  uncut 
pages  of  the  last  Scribner^  which  she  carefully  cut  and 
looked  into,  with  an  eager  scrutiny  that  told  how 
intensely  interested  she  was  in  finding  that  hat.  She 
never  varied  her  method  of  search,  save  when  the 
approaching  footsteps  of  her  father  warned  her  that  he 
was  swinging  on  his  erratic  eccentric  in  that  direction, 
when  she  hid  the  magazine,  and  picking  up  the  corner  of 
the  piano  cover  looked  under  that  article  with  a  sweet 
air  of  zealous  interest,  exclaiming  in  tones  of  pretty 
vexation,  "  I  wonder  where  it  can  be } "  And  it  was 
noticeable  that  this  action  and  remark,  both  of  which  she 
never  failed  to  repeat  every  time  her  father  came  into 
the  room,  had  the  effect  of  throwing  that  estimable  but 
irascible  old  gentleman  into  paroxysms  of  the  most  vio- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  197 

lent  passion,  each  one  growing  worse  than  its  prede- 
cessors, until  they  would  culminate  in  a  grand  burst  of 
wrath  in  which  he  ordered  her  to  quit  looking  for  his  hat. 
Then  she  would  retire  with  an  injured  air  and  tell  her 
mother,  between  that  indefatigable  searcher's  sneezes, 
that  "one  might  wear  one's  self  out  slaving  and  looking 
for  pa's  hat  in  every  conceivable  place,  and  all  the 
thanks  one  got  for  it  was  to  be  scolded."  Master  Bilder- 
back,  he  helped  hunt,  too.  His  system  of  conducting  a 
search  was  to  go  around  into  the  back  yard  and  play 
"toss  ball"  up  against  the  end  of  the  house,  making 
mysterious  disappearances,  with  marvelous  celerity,  be- 
hind the  woodpile  or  under  a  large  store  box,  so  oft  as 
he  heard  the  mutterings  of  the  tempest  that  invariably 
preceded  and  announced  his  father's  approach. 

But  Mr.  Bilderback.  His  was  a  regular  old  composite 
system  of  investigation ;  it  combined  and  took  in  every- 
thing. He  raged  through  the  sitting-room  like  a  hurri- 
cane ;  he  looked  under  every  chair  in  that  room,  and 
then  upset  them  all  to  see  if  he  mightn't  possibly  have 
overlooked  the  hat.  Then  he  looked  on  all  the  brackets 
in  the  parlor,  and  behind  the  window  curtains,  and  kicked 
over  the  ottoman  to  look  for  a  hat  that  he  couldn't  have 
squeezed  under  a  wash-tub.  And  he  kept  up  a  running 
commentary  all  the  time,  which  served  no  purpose  except 
to  warn  his  family  when  he  was  coming  and  give  them 
time  to  prepare.  He  looked  into  the  clock  and  left  it 
stopped  and  standing  crooked.  And  he  would  like  to 
know  who  touched  that  hat.  He  looked  into  his  daugh- 
ter's work-box,  a  sweet  little  shell  that  "George"  gave 
her,  and  he  emptied  it  out  on  the  table  and  wondered 
what  such  trumpery  was  for,  and  who  in  thunder  hid  his 
hat.  "It  must  be  hid,"  he  said,  peering  down  with  a 
dark,  suspicious  look  into  an  odor  bottle  somewhat  larger 


198  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

than  a  thimble,  "  for  it  couldn't  have  got  so  completely 
out  of  sight  by  accident."  If  people  wouldn't  meddle 
with  his  things,  he  howled,  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Bilder- 
back,  whom  he  heard  sneezing  as  he  went  past  the  closet 
door,  he  would  always  know  just  where  to  find  them 
because  (looking  gloomily  behind  the  kitchen  wood  box) 
he  always  had  one  place  to  put  all  his  things  (and  he 
took  off  the  Hd  of  the  spice-box),  and  kept  them  there. 
He  glared  savagely  out  of  the  door,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
his  hopeful  son,  but  that  youthful  strategist  was  out  of 
sight  behind  his  intrenchments.  Mr.  Bilderback  wrath- 
fuUy  resumed  his  search,  and  roared,  for  his  daughter's 
benefit,  that  he  would  spend  every  cent  he  had  irttended 
to  lay  out  for  winter  bonnets,  in  new  hats  for  himself,  and 
then  maybe  he  might  be  able  to  find  one  when  he  wanted 
it.  Then  he  opened  the  door  of  the  oven  and  looked 
darkly  in,  turned  all  the  clothes  out  of  the  wash-basket,  and 
strewed  them  around,  wondering  ''''who  had  hid  that 
hat.?"  And  he  pulled  the  clothes-line  off  its  nail,  and 
got  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  look  behind  the 
refrigerator,  and  wondered  "who  had  hid  that  hat;"  and 
then  he  climbed  on  the  back  of  a  chair  to  look  on  the  top 
shelf  of  the  cupboard,  and  sneezed  around  among  old 
wide-mouthed  bottles  and  pungent  paper  parcels,  and 
wondered  in  muffled  wrath  "  who  had  hid  that  hat  V 
And  he  went  down  into  the  cellar  and  roamed  around 
among  rows  of  stone  jars  covered  with  plates  and  tied 
up  with  brown  paper,  and  smelling  of  pickles  and  things 
in  all  stages  of  progress  ;  every  one  of  which  he  looked 
into,  and  how  he  did  wonder  "  who  had  hid  that  hat." 
And  he  looked  into  dark  corners  and  swore  when  he 
jammed  his  head  against  the  corners  of  swinging  shelves, 
and  felt  along  those  shelves  and  run  his  fingers  into  all 
sorts  of  bowls,  containing  all   sorts  of  greasy  and  sticky 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  I  99 

Stuff,  and  thumped  his  head  against  hams  hanging  from 
the  rafters,  at  which  he  swore  anew,  and  he  peered  into 
and  felt  around  in  barrels  which  seemed  to  have  nothing 
in  them  but  cebwebs  and  nails  ;  shook  boxes  which  were 
prolific  in  dust  and  startling  in  rats,  and  he  wondered 
"who  had  hid  that  hatT' 

And  just  then  loud  whoops  and  shouts  came  from  up 
stairs,  announcing  that  "here  it  was."  And  old  Bilder- 
back  went  up  stairs  growling,  because  the  person  who 
hid  it  hadn't  brought  it  out  before,  and  saw  the  entire 
family  pointing  out  into  the  back  yard,  where  the  hat 
surmounted  Mr.  Bilderback's  cane,  which  was  leaning 
against  the  fence,  "just  where  you  left  it,  pa,"  Miss  Bil- 
derback  explained,  "  when  we  called  you  into  supper, 
and  it  has  been  out  there  all  night."  And  Mr.  Bilder- 
back,  evidently  restraining,  by  a  violent  effort,  an  intense 
desire  to  bless  his  daughter  with  the  cane,  remarked  with 
a  mysterious  manner,  that  "  it  was  mighty  singular,"  and 
putting  on  the  hat,  he  strode  away  with  great  dignity  ; 
leaving  his  wife  and  daughter  to  re-arrange  the  house. 


200  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MIND  READING. 


ONE  morning,  about  the  middle  of  the  Spring  term, 
Master  Bilderback  made  his  appearance  at  school 
with  a  subdued  manner  apparent  in  all  his  actions,  while 
a  cast  of  sadness  mingled  with  traces  of  pleasant  mem- 
ories overspread  his  countenance.  It  was,  in  short,  that 
general  expression  of  penitence  which  people  assume 
after  a  holiday  of  more  than  usual  hilarity.  His  quiet 
manner  astonished  the  scholars  and  alarmed  his  teacher, 
who  feared  that  it  was  a  portent  of  some  unusual  mis- 
chief, and  kept  her  eye  upon  the  lad  in  consequence.  He 
did  not  appear  to  be  conscious  of  the  surveillance  under 
which  he  was  placed.  He  bent  no  pins,  he  chewed  no 
gum,  he  fired  at  the  adjacent  scholars  no  projectiles  of 
masticated  paper  during  the  morning;  no  dismal  but 
subdued  cat-calls  were  heard  from  the  vicinity  of  his 
seat;  no  grotesque  grimaces  made  his  neighbors  laugh 
with  uncounterfeited  glee ;  restful  were  his  feet,  and  quiet 
the  fingers  which  were  wont  to  drum  on  the  desk  four 
minutes  out  of  every  five.  Master  Bilderback  was  either 
in  some  deep  affliction  or  he  was  ill.  There  was  some- 
thing wrong  about  him. 

It  transpired,  along  toward  noon,  when  Master  Bilder- 
back's  spirits  began  to  rise  a  little,  that  he  had  indeed 
passed  under  the  rod,  with  his  father  at  the  other  end  of 
it,  during  the  evening  previous.  The  waters  of  affliction 
had  gone  over  his  soul,  and  his  back  had  gone  under  the 
sole  of  his  mother's  slipper.  It  seems  they  had  company 
at  Mr.  Bilderback's  that  evening,  quite  a  large  party,  in 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  20r 

fact,  and  the  conversation  turned  on  mind  reading.  The 
discussion  became  very  spirited,  Mr.  Bilderback  being 
the  leader  of  the  party  which  avowed  its  belief  in  mes- 
meric influences.  The  usual  arguments  of  learned  length 
and  thundering  sound  were  hurled  back  and  forth,  Mr. 
Bilderback  winning  especial  distinction  by  the  clearness 
with  which  he  proved  that,  in  certain  esthetic  conditions 
of  the  mental  and  physical  systems,  the  peculiar  psychic 
forces  which  always  existed  in  a  latent  state,  were  roused 
into  an  active  condition;  and  the  action  of  the  intellect 
upon  the  cerebrum  was  felt  in  the  cerebellum,  and  trans- 
mitted by  mesmeric  condition  to  the  candelebra,  where 
the  psychomatic  transfusion  of  the  occipital  parietis 
made  the  Ego  as  cognizant  of  the  mutation  and  genu- 
flexions of  the  non-Ego,  as  though  the  psychic  modifica- 
tions really  impinged  upon  the  same  ganglion;  and  the 
nerve  waves  along  the  ganglia  of  the  two  systems,  trans- 
muted by  a  touch  of  the  hand,  were,  and  could  only  be, 
identical.  And  Mr.  Bilderback's  party  said,  "Yes;  what 
could  you  say  to  that,  now.'* "  A.nd  the  other  party  shook 
their  heads  and  said,  "Yes;  but  that  was  only  a  theory, 
after  all;  they  would  like  to  see  the  hypothesis  demon- 
strated." And  at  that  critical  juncture,  Master  Bilder- 
back, who  had  been  an  attentive  listener,  spoke  up,  in 
his  rough,  horrid  style,  and  declared  that  "  that  wasn't 
nauthin*;"  that  they  tried  it  at  school,  an'  he  could  let 
the  boys  hide  things  and  then  lead  them  right  to  the 
place  where  they  were  hid.  The  excitement  ran  high 
for  a  few  moments,  and  Master  B.  was  closely  cateclvised, 
but  he  never  varied  from  his  original  story;  and  they 
finally  determined  to  try  him. 

Mr.  Tweesdle,  a  young  fellow  who  dotes  on  poetry  and 
Miss  Bilderback,  was  the  first  subject.  He  announced 
that  he  was  thinking  of  a  certain  object,  and  by  the  way 


202  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

he  looked  at  the  mind  reader's  sister,  everybody  thought 
they  knew  what  it  was.  But  Master  Bilderback  seized 
him  by  the  hand,  led  him  out  in  the  hall  and  up  to  the 
hat-rack,  followed  by  the  entire  company,  and  reaching 
his  hand  into  Mr.  Tweesdle's  overcoat  pocket,  drew  forth 
a  paper  bag  containing  a  pound  of  sausages,  half  a  dozen 
eggs,  and  a  couple  of  rusks,  remarking,  "  There,  that's 
what  you're  thinking  of."  And  just  at  that  moment  he 
certainly  was,  although  he  shook  his  head  in  an  idiotic 
manner  and  laughed  feebly,  while  all  the  rest  of  the 
people  never  smiled,  but  only  looked  at  each  other  and 
said,  "  Why,  how  funny  !  " 

This  sad  affair  cast  a  gloom  over  the  entire  community 
for  a  few  moments,  but  the  people  rallied  and  demanded 
another  test.  There  was  a  general  reluctance  on  the 
part  of  the  visitors  to  take  a  hand  in  it,  and  so  Mrs.  Bil- 
derback was  prevailed  upon  to  be  a  subject  in  the  course 
of  scientific  experiments.  As  soon  as  she  had  assumed 
a  pensive  expression  and  announced  that  her  mind  was 
wholly  occupied  with  one  subject,  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
other  terrestrial  things,  the  boy  grasped  her  by  the  hand, 
and  away  they  went,  sailing  up  stairs,  followed  by  the 
entire  congregation.  The  mind-reader  marshaled  them 
into  a  room,  and  leading  his  subject  straight  to  the  bureau, 
drew  from  a  small  drawer  a  set  of  false  teeth  and  a  bottle 
of  hair  dye.  Mrs.  Bilderback  shrieked,  the  company 
looked  grave,  and  some  of  the  ladies  declared  to  each 
other  that  well  now,  they  never  did. 

There  was  anoiher  brief  season  of  gloom,  which  was 
dissipated  by  Mr.  Bilderback  declaring  that  as  neither  of 
the  subjects  in  the  two  experiments  they  had  just  wit- 
nessed had  denied  the  accuracy  of  the  mind-reader's 
judgment,  he  would  submit  to  the  test  himself.  Great 
applause  greeted  this  determination,  and  as  Mr.  Bilder- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  203 

back,  with  a  glance  that  threatened  a  massacre  if  there 
were  any  tricks  played  on  him,  placed  his  hand  in  that 
of  his  son,  the  congregetion  rose  en  masse  to  follow 
where  the  mind-reader  might  lead.  Master  Bilderback 
placed  his  hand  against  his  father's  forehead  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  then  he  placed  it  against  his  own  and  remained 
for  several  seconds  in  a  thoughtful  posture,  and  then  led 
his  reluctant  parent,  followed  by  the  company,  out  of 
doors,  and  calling  for  a  lantern,  which  was  provided,  they 
went  into  the  wood  shed,  where  the  mind-reader,  despite 
several  stealthy  nudges  from  his  parent,  reached  his  arm 
behind  a  pile  of  hickory  knots,  and  drew  forth  a  whisky 
bottle  nearly  a  foot  long,  flat  as  a  board,  and  about  half 
full.  Then  a  shadow  fell  upon  the  community  that  not 
even  the  cordial  good  nights  that  were  exchanged  at  the 
door  could  dissipate,  and  after  the  footsteps  of  the  last 
reveler  had  died  away  in  the  distance,  Mast^  Bilderback 
held  two  separate  private  seances  with  his  parents,  the 
remarkable  manifestations  of  which  occasioned  the  sub- 
dued state  of  mind  and  unusual  depression  of  spirits 
which  were  so  painfully  apparent  in  the  young  man  the 
following  day. 


204  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE. 


A   SAFE   BET. 


ONE  night,  last  Winter,  old  Mr.  Balbriggan,  who  lives 
out  on  Columbia  Street,  had  occasion  to  make  a 
journey  out  to  the  wood  shed  to  get  the  hatchet.  It  was 
very  dark,  and  as  there  was  no  lantern  about  the  house, 
Mr.  Balbriggan  took  a  kerosene  lamp,  and  shading  it 
very  carefully  with  a  big  tin  pan,  started  out  to  the  wood 
shed.  The  wind  was  rather  uncertain  and  gusty,  and 
Mr.  Balbriggan  had  some  misgivings  about  his  getting 
out  to  the  shed  without  accident;  and  every  time  the 
lamp  flared,  his  mind  misgave  him.  "  I'll  bet  a  dollar 
that  lamp'U  blow  out,"  he  muttered  when  the  first  gust 
came,  but  he  shied  the  tin  pan  around  with  great  prompt- 
ness, and  the  lamp  steadied  down.  There  came  another 
gust  and  a  bigger  flare,  and  the  chances  for  the  lamp 
going  out  improved  so  decidedly  that  the  old  gentleman 
promptly  raised  his  first  stake.  "  I'll  bet  a  dollar  and  a 
half,"  he  muttered,  "that  lamp  blows  out."  Then  the 
wind  lulled  a  little,  and  as  he  hurried  on  toward  the 
shed  it  was  so  quiet  that,  while  he  didn't  quite  lose  all 
confidence,  he  began  to  hedge  a  little;  "I'll  bet  fifty 
cents,"  he  said,  "  it'll  go  out  before  I  get  back."  Another 
gust  and  a  flare.  "  I'll  bet  two  dollars  that  lamp  blows 
out,"  muttered  the  old  gentleman  again,  chipping  a  little 
higher  as  the  chances  seemed  to  grow  better ;  but  again 
he  saved  the  light  by  the  timely  interposition  of  the  tin 
pan.  "  I'll  bet  three  dollars,"  he  cried  with  great  earnest- 
ness, as  the  next  gust  came,  "this  lamp'll  blow  out;"  but 
there  were  no  takers  and  the  lamp  rallied  again.     But  a 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  205 

Still  stronger  gust  fairly  lifted  the  flame  out  of  the  top  of 
the  smoked  chimney ;  and  the  old  gentleman  hissed  in  a 
hoarse,  suppressed  whisper,  "I'll  bet  five  dollars  this 
lamp'U  blow  out."  But  it  settled  down  to  work  once 
more,  and  did  very  well  until  Mr.  Balbriggan  got  very 
close  to  the  woodshed ;  when  the  wind  rallied  and  came 
at  the  lamp  from  two  or  three  directions  at  once,  and  the 
old  gentleman  fairly  shouted,  "I'll  bet  ten  dollars  this 
lamp'U  blow "  and  just  then  the  door  of  the  wood- 
shed blew  violently  open,  hitting  the  lamp  and  the  tin 
pan,  knocking  them  both  out  of  Mr.  Balbriggan 's  hands, 
and  striking  the  old  gentleman  a  terrible  blow  in  the  face 
that  made  him  see  more  lights  dancing  in  the  air,  for 
about  a  second,  than  even  the  lamp  could  send  forth. 
And  while  he  held  his  nose  with  one  hand  and  groped 
around  with  the  other  to  find  where  he  was,  there  came 
from  the  house  door  the  voice  of  the  eldest  juvenile  Bal- 
briggan, falling  through  the  darkness  like  a  falling  star : 
"Raise  him  out,  pa,  raise  him  out;  make  it  a  hundred 
dollars;  you've  got  a  dead  sure  thing  on  it!  " 


206  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  COW. 


SWITCH  engine  Louisa,  "B.,  C.  R.  &  M.," 
Was  slowing  up  Front  Street  about  three  P.  M., 
When  the  stoker  looked  out  of  the  window  to  say, 
"There's  a  cow  going  cross  the  t-r-a-c-kay." 

Pensively  halted  the  cow  on  the  track, 
Burs  on  her  pendent  tail,  bran  on  her  back; 
Dreaming  of  Summer,  she  seemed  not  to  see 
The  approach  of  the  switch  e-n-g-i-n-e. 

Once  more  spake  the  stoker,  "There  she  is  now," 
"  Bully,"  the  engineer  quoth,  "for  the  cow." 
And  reversing  his  engine  he  cried,  "  Shoo!  Oh,  shoo!  " 
Said  the  stoker,  "Oh,  shoo't  the  see-oh-doubleyou." 

Shrilly  the  whistle  shrieked  for  its  alarm, 
And  the  stoker  threw  firewood  and  coals  in  a  swarm ; 
But  the  cow  never  heeded,  nor  thought  that  her  star 
Was  setting  at  four  miles  an  h-o-u-r. 

The  switch  engine  struck  her  about  amidships. 
And  her  Summer  dreams  met  with  a  total  eclipse; 
It  mangled  her  carcase,  most  shocking  to  see, 
And  threw  her  down  Front  s-t-r-double-e-tea. 

Sadly  the  engineer  drew  in  his  head, 
And  "pulled  her  wide  open,"  as  onward  he  sped; 
But  the  stoker  smiled  gayly,  "Old  fellow,"  said  he, 
"There's  some  cheap  porterhouse  s-t-a-k-e/'* 

*  That  isn't  the  way  to  spell  porterhouse  steak,  but  the  right  way  wouldn't 
rhyme. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  207 


YOUNG  MR.  COFFINBERRY  BUYS  A  DOG. 


PEOPLE  lifted  their  eyes  above  their  mufflers  one 
raw  November  morning  as  they  walked  down  Jeffer- 
son Street,  and  smiled  and  grinned,  and  laughed  even 
unto  hysterical  weeping,  as  they  watched  the  toilsome 
and  uncertain  progress  of  a  patient  young  man  who  had 
bought  a  dog  and  was  leading  his  property  home.  It 
was  a  nice  enough  kind  of  a  dog.  one  of  the  kind  of  dogs 
whose  mouth  begins  back  close  to  the  shoulders.  It  had 
dreadfully  long  legs,  this  dog,  with  great  knobs  of  knees,^ 
and  its  restless  tail  had  a  dejected  droop,  as  though  the 
dog  was  just  heart-broken  at  the  idea  of  leaving  his  old 
home.  The  young  man  was  leading  the  dog  along  with 
a  very  long  string,  one  end  whereof  was  tied  around  the 
dog's  neck.  The  only  trouble  with  the  dog  was  that  he 
was  young.  He  had  not  attained  the  years  of  discretion. 
He  couldn't  trot  placidly  along  thinking  of  things.  He 
couldn't  walk  at  his  master's  heels  with  a  face  as  solemn 
as  though  he  expected  to  be  sausage  before  Thanksgiving 
Day.  He  was  a  nervous,  fidgety,  inquisitive  dog,  and  he 
tried  to  read  all  the  signs,  and  crawl  under  all  the  wagons, 
and  dive  between  every  body's  legs  as  he  went  along. 
And  the  first  thing  he  knew,  he  had  a  contract  on  hand 
that  was  much  too  big  for  him,  and  he  was  just  about 
crazy  over  it,  for  he  wasn't  the  dog  to  give  up,  if  he  was 
young,  and  he  stuck  to  his  work  like  a  Trojan.  And  this 
was  what  made  people  laugh.  The  young  man  who  was 
leading  him  had  just  lifted  his  hat  to  some  lady  acquaint- 
ances who  were  passing  when'  the  dog,  looking  up,  mis- 


15 


2o8  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

understood  the  motion  and  thought  his  master  was  going 
to  hit  him  a  diff  with  that  hat.  With  the  natural  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  the  shy,  timid  young  thing  dashed 
between  the  young  man's  legs  and  ran  to  the  length  of 
his  tether;  then  he  gave  a  terrified  howl  and  darted  back 
in  the  opposite  direction,  going  outside  the  young  man's 
right  leg.  Then,  with  a  frightened  yelp  it  sprang  back 
between  the  legs  again,  circled  around  and  came  down 
outside  the  left  leg.  Then  it  ran  rapidly  around  the 
young  man,  dived  through  his  legs  again  and  ran  around 
him  once  and  a  half  in  an  opposite  direction,  and  his 
last  maneuver  closed  the  performance,  for  it  wound  the 
dog  completely  up,  with  his  frightened  face  laid  close 
against  the  young  man's  knee.  Mr.  Coffinberry  blushed 
to  his  ears,  and  replacing  his  hat,  began  the  task  of  extri- 
cating himself  from  the  toils  that  artful  dog  had  cast 
around  him.  But  the  animal's  confidence  was  not  yet 
entirely  restored,  for  at  every  movement  of  Mr.  Coffin- 
berry's  hands,  he  squirmed  and  writhed  and  pulled  back 
on  the  string  until  he  was  choked,  and  coughed  and 
gasped  in  a  manner  most  terrifying  to  the  people  not 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  symptoms  of  hydropho- 
bia, and  the  young  man  was  naturally  as  badly  frightened, 
when  these  paroxysms  became  very  lively,  as  was  the  dog 
itself.  It  was  fifteen  minutes  before  the  snarl  was  dis- 
entangled. Then  before  they  had  gone  half  a  block 
further,  that  dog,  after  having  rushed  into  and  been 
forcibly,  and  in  some  instances  rather  petulantly,  dragged 
out  of  every  doorway  on  the  line  of  march,  incontinently 
shot  down  a  cellar  grating,  where  he  was  immediately 
clawed  and  scalped  by  a  cat  as  big  as  a  soap  box,  and 
was  also  nearly  garroted  by  his  master  drawing  him  up 
out  of  the  cellar  by  the  cord,  for  all  the  world  as  though 
he  was   a  well   bucket.     About    thirty  steps   further  on, 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  209 

the  dog  ran  between  a  clergyman's  legs,  got  frightened 
and  ran  around  him  once  and  then  dived  between  his 
master's  legs,  then  rushed  out  toward  the  curb  stone,  but 
changing  his  mind,  circled  back  and  scooped  in  a  blush- 
ing school  teacher,  and  then  gazed  upon  the  mischief  he 
had  wrought,  with  hideous  howls.  The  bystanders 
thought  they  never  could  get  out  of  that  entanglement. 
The  minister  declared  alternatively  that  "he  never  did" 
and  moreover  that  "  well  he  never;"  the  blushing  school 
teacher  remarked  "  good  gracious,"  and  suggested  also, 
"dear  me,"  and,  furthermore,  "well,  now;"  and  the 
young  man  said  something  about  the  dog  being  damp, 
which  was  highly  improbable  as  the  morning  was  very 
raw.  By  dint  of  a  great  deal  of  persuasion  and  pulling 
and  hauling,  however,  in  which  they  were  greatly  assisted 
by  the  dog,  the  unhappy  trio  were  finally  separated  and 
went  their  way,  making  ineffectual  efforts  to  look  uncon- 
cerned. Then  the  dog  wrapped  himself  up  around  a 
lamp  post;  then  he  got  through  the  hind  wheel  of  a  gro- 
cer's wagon  five  or  six  times,  back  and  forth,  around  a 
different  spoke  every  time,  while  his  master  was  talking 
to  the  grocer,  and  the  latter  drove  off  before  the  young 
man  noticed  what  arrangements  his  dog  had  con- 
cluded with  the  wheel,  and  Jefferson  Street  was  edified 
by  the  spectacle  of  a  dog  wound  up  to  a  wagon  wheel 
and  revolving  rapidly  with  it,  while  a  young  man  of 
pleasing  address  ran  alongside  the  wheel  and  added  his 
agonized  appeals  to  the  half-  stifled  wails  of  the  hanging 
pup.  They  got  the  wagon  stopped  and  got  the  pup 
loose,  and  the  young  man,  wearied  with  the  long  struggle, 
resolutely  turned  toward  the  store,  and  walked  rapidly 
away,  the  unhappy  dog  lying  prone  on  his  back,  gasping 
and  pawing  the  air,  while  the  boys  who  witnessed  the 
strange  procession   made  the  welkin   ring  with  cries  of 


2IO  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"Dog's  a  chokin !  mister,  yer  dog's  a  chokin!"  But 
young  Mr.  Coffinberry  knew  that  so  long  as  his  dog  was 
helplessly  sprawled  on  his  back  he  couldn't  wrap  the 
inhabitants  of  Burlington  up  in  perspiring,  distracted 
groups,  so  he  kept  on  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  and 
when  he  finally  untied  the  string  from  the  animal's 
neck  and  turned  him  loose  in  the  store,  there  wasn't  so 
much  hair  on  that  dog's  back  as  would  make  a  tooth 
brush. 


A   MODERN   GOBLIN. 


A  DREARY,  cheerless  Christmas  Eve.  The  dead 
hour  of  day,  when  the  pale  twilight  falls  over  the 
earth,  still  and  colorless  as  a  shroud.  Down  the  long 
vistas  of  deserted  streets  but  here  and  there  the  feeble 
rays  of  some  struggling  light  gleams  through  the  gray 
twilight,  pale  as  the  glitter  of  a  jewel  on  the  brow  of 
death.  Across  the  dull  waste  of  sky  the  ghostly  clouds 
fly  before  a  piercing  wind,  which  whirls  and  tears  their 
edges  into  fluttering  fringes.  The  gloaming  fades  slowly 
and  almost  imperceptibly  into  night.  Away  back  from 
the  town,  out  on  the  bleak"  hillsides,  the  leafless  trees 
toss  their  bare  arms,  gaunt  shapes  against  the  pallor  of 
the  sky,  the  swaying  branches  answering  their  mocking 
shadows,  dancing  like  specters  on  the  frozen  ground ; 
while  the  withered  leaves  rustle  like  very  shudders. 

The  hour,  neither  light  nor  darkness,  neither  day  nor 
night,  that,  with  its  weird,  indescribable  magic,  draws 
you  from  the  cheery  grate  to  press  your  face  against  the 
cold  window,  and  dream  out  into  the  gray  light,  peopled 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  211 

with  specters  and  visions — often  grotesque,  but  never 
merry — that  come  trooping  from  every  shadow.  Comes 
a  rosy  little  face,  framed  in  tangled  tresses — ah,  long, 
long  unfolding  years  must  roll  back  to  take  you  to  the 
time  when  the  laughing  eyes  looked  into  yours;  to-night 
you  remember — dear  child — the  dimpled  hands  were 
crossed  on  the  pulseless  breast,  when  you  were  a  boy; 
and  the  cheerless  winter  landscape,  the  dreary  hills 
of  snow,  and  the  leafless  forests  stretch  away,  mile  after 
weary  mile,  between  your  home  and  where  the  Christmas 
winds  sigh  plaintive  monodies  over  her  little  grave. 
There  comes  a  thoughtful,  earnest  face,  manly  and 
noble;  a  playmate  of  your  boyhood,  a  college  classmate 
and  friend;  the  man  who  stood  for  your  ideal  of  all  that 
is  brave  and  true,  and  virtuous  and  generous.  As  you 
look  at  it,  you  remember,  to-night,  that  when  you  saw 
the  real  face,  so  little  time  ago,  it  was  worn  and  old  and 
haggard,  and  stamped  with  the  leprous  mark  of  vice. 
You  shudder  at  the  recollection;  but  the  pleading  look 
of  the  vision  goes  to  your  heart  as  it  fades  away;  and 
other  faces,  long  forgotten,  crowd  before  you.  One, 
furrowed  with  marks  of  patient  suff'ering  and  care, 
with  silver  bands  in  the  brown  hair  drawn  so  smoothly 
away  from  the  brow,  mother-love  glistening  in  the  tender 
eyes,  mother-love  in  the  quivering,  heart-reaching  elo- 
quence of  the  tremulous  lips,  mother-love  in  the  caress- 
ing gesture  of  the  gentle  hands — what  wonder  that  it 
lingers  long,  and  fades  only  when  you  crush  the  burning 
tears  that  blind  your  eyes  and  veil  the  vision  from  your 
sight. ■*  And  comes  one  sweeter,  dearer  than  all — your 
heart  throbs  more  quickly  as  you  see  a  shadow  rise  in 
the  deepening  twilight  —  a  face  glowing  with  blushes  and 
wreathed  in  smiles  ;  a  face  that  shone  into  your  life  like 
sunshine,  in  its  bright  springtime  days;  a  face  that  has 


212  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

remained  constant  while  everything  else  has  changed — 
your  old  heart  grows  tender  and  young  with  dear  recollec- 
tions, and  you  thank  God  that  although  years  have  set 
their  mark  upon  this  dear  vision,  it  is  still  yours,  loving, 
faithful,  and  powerful  to  bless  and  charm  in  every  mood 
and  at  all  times.  It  is  gone ;  and  looming  through  the 
deepening  shadows  another  form  of  familiar  presence 
rises  before  you.  The  silvery  tones  of  memory-bells  chime 
like  a  Christmas  choral  through  the  bleak  wind  shaking 
so  angrily  the  noisy  shutters.  It  is  the  milkman,  and  he 
jangles  all  your  sweet  dreams  out  of  tune,  sending  the 
ghosts  your  retrospect  has  raised  back  to  the  shadowy 
past.  And  as  your  visions  disappear,  you  dismally  watch 
the  female  vassals  of  the  neighborhood  sallying  forth  in 
answer  to  the  tinkling  summons,  bearing  all  possible 
manner  of  squatty  tinware  and  corpulent  yellow  bowls, 
in  which  to  receive  lawful  but  attenuated  measures  of 
that  peculiar  aqueous  fluid  of  cerulean  hue  with  which, 
under  the  ghastly  appellation  of  "  cream,"  our  best 
society  dilutes  its  table  beverages.  And  when  this 
amusement  ceases  to  be  longer  interesting,  you  leave  the 
draughty  window  and  seek  the  more  congenial  com- 
panionship of  the  black,  close-shut  gas-burner,  which 
out  of  respect  to  your  conceit  and  the  conventionalities 
of  the  Christmas  time,  we  have  designated  a  "  cheery 
fire  -  place,"  with  an  incipient  cold  in  your  otherwise 
empty  head. 

For  the  shadows  have  beckoned  and  reached  to  each 
other,  and  joined  their  giant  hands,  and  danced  until 
the  light  is  frightened  away.  In  heavier  volumes  rolls 
the  black  smoke  from  every  chimney,  indicating  that  the 
estimable  and  respectable  business  men  of  the  city,  hav- 
ing left  their  clerks  with  orders  to  save  gas  and  not  waste 
the  coal,  and  to  close  the  store  only  when  the  last  linger- 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  213 

ing,  possible  chance  of  securing  one  more  belated  cus- 
tomer has  faded  into  hopelessness,  are  now  at  home, 
enjoying  the  unspeakable  luxury  of  heaping  the  stove 
with  coal  their  wives  have  carried  in,  and  driving  the 
other  members  of  the  family  to  madness  by  monopoliz- 
ing the  privilege  of  poking  the  fire.  Gas  lights  twinkle 
in  the  streets,  for  the  faithful  almanac  in  the  gas  com- 
pany's office  has  been  mislaid,  and  they  do  not  know 
there  will  be  a  moon  quite  late  in  the  morning,  A  ruddy 
glow  of  firelight  and  lamplight  streams  out  into  the  gath- 
ering .darkness  when  a  door  is  opened,  men  are  hurrying 
home,  their  faces  averted,  and  their  bodies  bowed  against 
the  howling  wind,  or  else  scudding  briskly  before  it. 
The  city  was  hurrying  home  to  enjoy  its  Christmas  Eve 
in  the  bosom  of  its  several  families,  and  to  scold  the 
children  and  pack  them  off  to  bed,  if  they  romped  and 
made  too  much  noise.  Everybody  knows  what  city  it 
was,  so  there  is  no  use  wasting  time  describing  it.  It 
was  just  the  same  old  city,  only  they  had  strengthened 
the  little  brick  house  down  below  the  corner  where  the 
blacksmith  lived,  with  a  coat  of  whitewash.  Just  the 
same  old  city.  « 

And  everybody  knows  the  hill  on  the  street,  where  it 
turns  to  wind  up  the  bluff  and  go  to  the  rich  folks'  houses 
on  top  of  the  long  hill  that  stretches  around  behind  the 
town  like  a  great  horse  shoe,  and  looks  down  on  all  the 
business,  and  bustle,  and  noise,  and  hurry,  and  work, 
and  fatigue  that  have  made  the  city  so  rich  and  powerful. 
And  just  at  the  time  we  were  speaking  about  a  gen- 
tleman was  making  devious  headway  up  this  hill,  just 
as  the  street  leaves  the  business  of  the  city  and 
goes  scrambling  up  to  the  quiet  and  rest  on  top  of 
the  hill.  A  discouraged  looking  gentleman,  who  seemed 
to  have  begun  his  Christmas  at  the  wrong  end,  and  so 


214  RISE    AND    FALL    OK    THE    MUSTACHE, 

got  nearly  through  with  it  beforQ  it  had  really  com- 
menced. The  gentleman's  Napoleonic  head  was  covered, 
part  of  the  time,  with  a  glossy  silk  tile,  which  art  had 
shaped  into  the  fashionable,  uncomfortable  cylinder 
which  adorns  the  caputs  of  our  Best  Young  Men,  but 
accident,  oft  recurring,  and  too  many  vigorous  slappings 
on  and  pattings  down  by  the  officious  but  ill-directed 
zeal  of  many  friends,  and  too  frequent  steppings  on  by 
the  owner  as  the  last  means  of  checking  its  mad  career 
in  a  race  with  the  wind,  had  graced  this  glossy  cylinder 
with  many  alternate  elevations  and  depressions,  giving  it 
that  corrugated  effect  so  attractive,  natural,  and  useful 
in  the  washboard  and  concertina,  but  very  repugnant 
and  ungraceful  in  the  silk  hat.  The  gentleman's  eccen- 
tric style  of  buttoning  his  overcoat,  three  holes  over  the 
same  button,  lent  an  air  of  abstraction  to  his  general 
appearance,  while  his  knitted  brow  told  of  intense  mental 
conflict  and  exertion.  He  made  little  forays  from  the 
sidewalk  to  the  middle  of  the  street,  returning  to  his 
pathway  by  devious  and  angular  ways,  as  though  striv- 
ing to  baffle  some  unseen  pursuer.  From  time  to  time 
he  made  vicious,  impulsive,  startled  clutches  at  the 
streaming  ends  of  his  necktie,  fluttering  in  the  blast, 
which  he  regarded  with  a  vague  uncertain  terror,  and, 
when  he  had  seized  them,  he  laughed  in  hollow,  hyster- 
ical accents.  The  smell  of  coff"ee  was  heard  in  the 
distance  as  he  passed,  and  ever  and  anon,  as  the  restless 
earth  raised  itself  in  precipitous  terraces  before  him,  he 
lifted  his  feet  high  in  air  and  with  lofty  steps  essayed  to 
scale  the  treacherous  mirage.  He  paused  in  his  circuit- 
ous progress  to  shake  hands  with  the  last  friendly  lamp- 
post on  that  thoroughfare,  expressing  his  confidence  in 
that  faithful  municipal  lighthouse  as  a  ''goo'role  feller," 
who  was,  under  any  and  every  possible  combination  of 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  215 

circumstances, '' all  ri'."  At  times  he  felt  for  his  hat 
with  both  hands,  and  having  secured  a  firm  grip  upon 
its  uncertain  brim,  he  removed  it  from  his  head  with 
great  caution,  and  swinging  it  violently  in  the  air,  pro- 
ceeded with  great  enthusiasm  and  heartiness  to  "  hurrah 
for*'  somebody,  but  invariably  forgot  who,  when  he  came 
to  the  name,  and  contented  himself  with  assuring  him- 
self that  that  was  "arri',"  after  which  with  gravity  he 
felt  for  his  head,  found  it,  and  with  much  deliberation 
got  the  hat  up  on  top  of  it,  generally  sideways  or  upside 
down,  and  with  great  physical  effort,  crushed  and  pulled 
it  on.  At  length,  having  parted  company  after  affec- 
tionate and  prolonged  adieus,  with  the  last  friendly  lamp- 
post, the  young  gentleman  loudly  announced  that  he  was 
a  "  total  wr — hie ! — creek  *'  and  proceeded  furthermore 
to  declare  that  he  would  not  and  could  not  by  any 
means  be  induced  to  seek  the  shelter  of  his  mother's 
roof  again  until  smiling  morn  should  hail  and  deck  the 
hills  with  gold,  and  the  rosy-fingered  hours  should  herald 
the  coming  of  the  god  of  day.  And  singing  this  true 
statement  in  a  rich  baritone,  a  kind  of  a  wheelbarrow 
tone,  in  fact,  possessing  more  volume  and  hoarse  wheezi- 
ness  than  we  would  admire  in  Nilsson's  chest  tones,  he 
made  a  vigorous  but  ineffectual  effort  to  fall  up  the  hill, 
and  angrily  ejaculating,  "  Ju  know  who  yer  pushin'.'*"  he 
shot  over  the  curbstone  with  frenzied  gestures  that 
seemed  to  proceed  at  least  from  ten  pairs  of  legs,  and 
disappeared  in  the  gloom  of  the  gutter,  where  he  lay,  and 
whence  his  stertorous  breathing  startled  the  nervous 
passers-by. 

Had  the  fallen  man  kept  on  the  uneven  tenor  of  his 
way  a  little  farther  he  would  have  encountered  a  mys- 
terious being  that  would  have  transformed  his  snores  into 
sounds  of  deeper  intonation.     The  street,  where  it  turned 


2l6  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

and  led  up  the  hill,  was  not  a  cheerful  one.  On  the  west 
side  the  bluff  rises  abruptly  as  a  wall,  and  on  the  opposite 
side  it  sinks  away  into  a  dark,  gloomy  ravine,  that  has 
an  uncanny  look  at  the  best  of  times,  and  the  sidewalk 
is  provided  with  a  wooden  railing,  to  keep  careless  or 
belated  passengers  from  plunging  down  the  l.ill-side. 
A  little  stream  winds  along  the  ravine,  endeavoring,  in  a 
despairing  kind  of  way,  to  find  its  way  to  the  river, 
which  it  never  does.  It  starts,  but  from  the  time  the 
city  was  first  settled  there  has  been  no  record  that  the 
little  stream  ever  got  clear  through ;  nobody  knows  what 
becomes  of  it,  where  it  goes  to;  but  certain  it  is,  that  all 
trace  of  it  is  lost  before  it  gets  half  way  to  any  where. 
But  we  have  naught  to  do  with  this  forlorn  little  country 
brook  that  comes  purling  through  pleasant  meadows,  and 
bubbling  over  white  pebbles,  and  wrangling  around  great 
bowlders,  to  get  bewildered  and  lost  in  the  entangling 
mazes  of  the  drains  and  gutters  and  sewers  and  culverts 
of  the  city. 

Seated  on  the  railing  of  the  sidewalk  was  an  apparition 
of  far  less  cheerful  mien  than  the  gentleman  who,  when 
we  left  him,  had  just  wrapped  the  curbstone  about  him 
and  laid  down  to  snore  the  Christmas  hours  away.  This 
figure  wore  a  snow  -  white  mantle,  much  too  airy  and 
summery  for  the  season  and  very  decidedly  out  of  style, 
which  fell  from  his  angular  shoulders  in  graceful  folds,  a 
portion  of  its  light  tissue  being  folded  over  his  osseous 
head  after  the  most  conventional  style  of  his  class.  As 
he  swung  his  legs  carelessly  to  and  fro,  they  struck  the 
lower  boards  of  the  railing  with  a  strange  rattling  sound 
like  muffled  castanets,  and  his  manner  of  whistling 
"  Down  Among  the  Dead  Men,"  under  his  breath  in  that 
weird,  ghostly  place,  with  the  bluff  rising  black  and 
abrupt  before  him,  and  the  ravine  lying  deep  in  impene- 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  217 

trable  shadow  behind  him,  had  that  awful  touch  of  the 
supernatural  in  it  that  would  make  one's  blood  run  cold 
to  contemplate.  A  ghostlier  ghost  never  chose  a  ghost- 
lier time  or  place  for  his  ghastly  recreations. 

He  ceased  his  hollow  whistling  and  stilled  his  nervous 
legs  as  he  heard  approaching  footsteps  on  the  sidewalk, 
and  dropped  from  his  easy  perch  on  the  railing  as  a 
young  man  and  a  lovely  maiden  came  toward  him,  toiling 
up  the  slope  down  which  the  December  zephyr  roared 
and  swept  into  a  fury  that  would  make  an  Ulster  over- 
coat feel  sick.  The  young  man's  arm  was  wound  ten- 
derly about  his  companion's  shrinking  seal -skin  cloak, 
while  he  hoarsely  whispered  words  into  her  ears,  which 
were  rosy  with  the  exhilarating  influence  of  -twenty- 
eight  degrees  below  zero.  The  ghost  stepped  in  front  of 
them. 

"  Excuse  my  hoarseness,"  he  said,  with  a  winning 
smile  that  extended  over  the  entire  width  of  his  finely- 
chiseled  face,  "  but  I  had  the  very  disagreeable  misfor- 
tune to  have  my  throat  cut  in  this  exceedingly  romantic 
spot  about  a  half  a  century  since,  and  my  voice  has  since 
been  affected  to  such  an  ex " 

The  very  wind  paused  in  its  noisy  bluster  to  listen  to 
the  wild  shrieks  that  were  piercing  the  darkness  like 
acoustic  arrows,  and  the  rapid  patter  of  two  pairs  of 
Arctic  over-  shoes  that  were  pounding  the  bosom  of  the 
frosty  earth  far  down  the  hill,  away  from  the  shadow  of 
the  bluff,  away  from  the  dreadful  blackness  of  the  ravine, 
in  the  direction  of  the  gleaming  street  lamps  of  the  city. 

The  ghost  leaned  upon  the  railing  and  sighed  as  he 
said  : 

"  This  was  not  the  style  of  responding  to  an  apology 
when  I  dwelt  among  men.  Perhaps  my  voice,  which  1 
have    not    used    before    for   fifty  years,  has    that   in    its 


2l8  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

mouldy  accents  which  is  disagreeable,  startling,  and 
possibly  repulsive,  to  mortal,  ears.  I  will  modulate  my 
intonation." 

He  paused  to  observe  the  figure  of  a  portly  man,  loom- 
ing vaguely  through  the  night,  as,  with  many  asthmatic 
puffs,  the  well-fed  citizen  essayed  to  beat  up  the  hill 
against  the  wind. 

"He  looks,"  said  the  specter,  musingly,  "  very  much 
like  an  honest  old  settler  I  used  to  know,  who  sold  whisky 
to  and  stole  furs  from  the  Indians,  the  year  after  I  first 
came  to  what  is  now  this  city." 

The  panting  citizen  came  alongside  and  was  passing 
by,  when  the  ghost  dropped  his  bony  hand  noiselessly  in 
the  hollow  of  his  arm. 

"A  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  sir,"  he  began,  "but  I 
observe  a  most  extraordinary  resemblance  in " 

"Oh-H-H-H-h,  Lord!" 

And  again  the  ghost  was  alone.  As  the  echoes  of  the 
excited  and  grossly  misapplied  remark  of  the  citizen  died 
away  in  the  mocking  echoes  of  the  dreary  solitudes,  the 
ghost  walked  across  the  street  and  carefully  examined 
the  face  of  the  bluff,  in  which  direction  the  portly  mortal 
had  made  his  unceremonious  and  abrupt  exit. 

"  No,"  the  specter  remarked,  after  a  critical  inspection, 
"  it  is  very  evident  that  he  did  not  plunge  through  the 
hill ;  he  certainly  ran  over  its  summit.  The  celerity 
with  which  he  accomplished  this  undertaking  at  his  time 
of  life,  and  in  his  condition  of  superfluous  flesh  too, 
smacks  almost  as  much  of  the  marvelous  to  me  as  I  did 
to  him.  I  would  be  willing  to  bet  my  boots,  now,"  he 
added,  with  a  ghastly  wink  at  his  bare  feet,  "that  the 
portly  old  party  can  not  come  here  to-morrow  noon  and 
get  over  that  hill  inside  of  twenty -five  minutes." 

"  Passenger  travel  on  this  street,"  he  continued,  resum- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  2ig 

ing  his  station  on  the  sidewalk,  "  is  livelier  than  it  was  in 
my  time.  As  I  remember,  the  two  gentlemen  who  per- 
formed the.  surgical  operation  on  my  windpipe,  which  has 
so. disagreeably  affected  my  voice,  had  to  wait  here  for 
me  five  hours  in  the  cheerless  gloom  before  my  other 
business  engagements  permitted  me  to  come  along  and 
make  an  involuntary  and  unwilling  third  in  their  inter- 
esting little  surprise  party.  And  I  sat  on  a  stump  near 
this  very  spot,  and  watched  my  lifeless  remains  nearly 
two  days  before  the  coroner  found  them  and  gave  them 
the  customary  inquest  with  a  fearful  and  wonderful  ver- 
dict, followed  by  Christian  burial.  Yes,  yes,  the  village 
has  been  prosperous  since  then,  and  now  —  but  soft,  a 
young  man  —  a  lover,  too,  or  I'm  no  ghost.  I  will  be- 
friend him  and  he  will  love  me." 

A  goodly  young  man  he  was  indeed,  as  ghost  or  girl 
would  wish  to  see.  Torture  racked  his  soul  when,  at 
every  step,  his  dainty  boots,  a  size  and  a  half  too  small, 
touched  the  ground.  And  even  the  snowy  expanse  of 
linen  cuffs,  weighted  with  moss -agate  sleeve  buttons,' 
failed  to  conceal  the  fact  that  his  flame -colored  kids 
would  not  button.  Though  the  piercing  wind  chilled  him 
to  the  very  marrow,  his  overcoat  was  opened  and  thrown 
back  from  his  throat  to  display  the  blue  necktie  that 
graced  his  paper  collar.  The  elaborate  and  painful  cos- 
tume betrayed  his  errand.  You  might  wring  bergamot 
out  of  the  air  when  he  passed  along,  and  there  was 
jockey  club  on  his  handkerchief,  and  his  breath  smelled 
a  little  of  sozodont,  some  of  trix,  and  a  great  deal  of 
something  else.  The  ghost  looked  after  him,  as  he 
passed  by,  with  as  much  friendly  admiring  interest  as  he 
could  throw  into  his  rather  open  countenance,  and  then 
gathering  his  robe  about  him  followed  swiftly  and  silently 
at  the  limping  heels  of  the  nice  young  man,  who  toiled 


220  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE 

painfully  but  very  patiently  and  exquisitely  properly  up 
the  hill  until  he  reached  the  summit  of  the  grade,  and 
pausing  before  a  mansion  of  pretentious  appearance, 
proceeded  to  investigate  the  ever  changing  mysteries  of 
a  front  gate. 

Properly  constructed,  the  front  gate  is  more  fearfully 
and  wonderfully  made  than  the  architect  who  designs  or 
the  carpenter  who  builds  it.  No  other  created  or  manu- 
factured th'ng  in  the  whole  wide  universe  can  equal  or 
rival  it  for  original  perversity  and  malignant  obstinacy. 
A  patient  man,  whose  soul  is  melting  within  him  from 
chronic  and  exaggerated  meekness,  will  fall  from  grace 
and  relieve  his  tortured  soul  in  a  burst  of  giant  powder 
profanity  after  fifteen  minutes'  struggle  with  a  front  gate, 
and  then  he  will  shower  a  tempest  of  abuse  upon  the 
unknown  man  who  contrived  such  a  diabolical  and  out- 
rageous gate,  and  he  will  cease  to  struggle  with  it  and 
will  climb  over  the  fence  and  disintegrate  his  raiment  on 
the  pickets,  and  abrade  his  cuticle  all  the  way  down  his 
back  as  he  slides  off,  and  then  his  soul  will  be  tossed  into 
a  very  sirocco  of  passion  and  mortification  when  he  sees 
the  dog  of  the  mansion  come  trotting  along  and  open  the 
gate  with  a  simple  push  of  his  nose.  Or  a  woman,  full 
of  a  woman's  love  and  yearning  tenderness,  will  take 
hold  of  a  gate  and  tug  at  it,  and  pull  and  haul  and  jerk 
until  she  nearly  drags  the  solid  posts  up  by  the  roots,  and 
when  all  the  blood  in  her  system  is  boiling  in  the  top  of 
her  head,  and  her  eyes  are  starting  from  their  sockets, 
and  she  dissolves  in  tears  of  utter,  abject  wretchedness 
and  rage  because  she  is  debarred  by  virtue  of  her  sex 
from  the  ecstatic  privilege  of  swearing  at  the  gate  and 
the  pirate  who  made  it,  a  grinning  boy  will  open  the  bar- 
rier by  merely  pulling  it  the  other  way.  Men  with  real, 
living  ideas,  and  lofty  aspirations,  and  soaring  ambitions, 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  221 

and  grand,  illimitable  thoughts,  swelling  and  groaning 
and  throbbing  in  heart  and  brain,  have  stood  before  an 
orthodox  front  gate  and  manipulated  its  fastenings,  mov- 
ing that  piece  this  way  and  this  one  that,  and  all  of  them 
the  other,  until  the  pot-metal  securities  have  assumed 
the  vexed  and  perplexing  varieties  and  dimensions  of  a 
Chinese  puzzle  with  the  delirium  tremens  or  a  Centen- 
nial election  table.  And  then,  when  at  last  with  a 
despairing  groan  he  lets  go  of  it,  and  raises  his 
hands  to  heaven  to  call  down  its  righteous  judgment 
upon  the  unregenerate  mocker  who  made  that  gate,  it 
slowly  swings  open  by  its  own  weight,  and  the  distressed 
Christian  discovers  to  his  unspeakable  amazement  that 
he  has  had  it  open  twenty  times  within  the  last  fifteen 
minutes.  And  all  these  troubles  are  magnified  after 
night.  Hook  and  staple  connect  the  swinging  gate  and 
the  immovable  post  where  hook  and  staple  there  were 
none  before.  The  most  trifling  and  ordinary  bolt  has  a 
way  of  acquiring  a  double  action  after  dark,  so  that  what- 
ever is  loosed  at  one  end  is  immediately  fastened  up  as 
tight  as  a  candidate  at  the  other.  Nails,  too,  appear, 
driven  in  the  post  immediately  above  the  latch,  and 
finally,  when  all  other  ties  are  sundered,  lo,  a  strap  hugs 
the  whole  structure  in  its  binding  embrace.  It  is  a  work 
of  ten  minutes  to  find  the  buckle,  and  when  found  it  is  a 
knot,  tied  when  the  strap  was  wet,  and  now  firmer  in  its 
clinging  folds  and  more  intricate  in  its  appalling  entan- 
glements than  the  famous  knot  which  Gordius  of  Phyrgia 
tied  in  his  chariot  harness,  a  knot  which  bafiled  even  the 
sublimest  efforts  of  the  Chicago  divorce  lawyers.  Even 
the  simplest  form  of  a  gate  latch  known  to  man,  com- 
posed of  a  round  hole  in  a  post  into  which  a  stick  is 
thrust  athwart  the  gate,  is  a  snare,  a  vanity,  a  vexation 
of  the  spirit  and  a  mortification  of  the  flesh ;  for  no  liv- 


222  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

ing  man  ever  opened  a  strange  gate  of  this  genus  that 
the  stick  did  not  come  out  with  a  jerk,  rasping  the 
abraded  knuckles  along  the  rude  edges  of  the  pickets. 

With  a  gate  which  presented,  or  rather  concealed,  and 
successively  developed,  like  masked  batteries,  all  the 
modern  combinations  of  baffling  elements  and  inventions, 
the  young  man  has  all  this  time  been  expostulating.  A 
good  young  man,  for  while  he  has  been  laboring  with 
that  remorseless  gate  with  all  the  intensity  of  purpose 
and  earnestness  that  fires  the  blood  of  youth,  he  has  only 
relieved  his  impatient  swelling  soul  by  saying  from  time 
to  time  that  "he  would  be  dad  binged,"  once  or  twice 
varying  the  tense,  as  the  future  suddenly  seemed  to  break 
upon  him  with  all  the  fullness  of  time,  to  declare  that  he 
was  "  dad  binged,"  and  several  times,  as  though  conscious 
of  some  degree  of  uncertainty  attending  the  whole  matter, 
devoutly  hoping  that,  at  some  indefinite  time  in  the  vague 
hereafter,  he  migklhQ  "dad  binged."  Once  he  passed  sud- 
denly to  the  imperative  and  passive,  appealing  to  some 
unknown  quantity  to  "dad  bing  the  dad  binged  old  gate," 
a  confusion  of  mood,  tense  and  voice  that  was  absurd, 
and  even  the  ghost,  which  stood  in  the  porch  of  the  man- 
sion watching  his  movements  with  that  all -absorbed 
interest  which  visitors  from  another  world  display  in 
terrestrial  matters,  shook  his  head  gravely,  as  if  doubting 
the  advisability  of  a  needless  waste  of  power  in  dad 
binging  that  which  was  already  declared  dad  binged. 
But  the  ghastly  visage  relaxed  in  a  grim  smile,  as  with 
one  last  tremendous  effort,  the  adolescent  raised  the 
barrier  from  its  fastenings,  hinges  and  all,  and  fell  for- 
ward to  the  gravel  walk  with  the  fiendish  gate  clasped  in 
his  arms,  reaching  the  ground  in  a  rattling  chorus  which 
roused  all  the  dogs  this  side  of  the  moon. 

Disengaging   himself  from   the   chaos  into  which   the 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  223 

gate  Had  fallen,  the  young  man  reached  the  porch  with  a 
halting  step,  and  as  he  stood  near  the  door,  brushing 
gravel  off  his  clothes  with  his  tattered  kids,  the  ghost 
gathered  his  bustle  and  train  about  him,  slid  deftly 
through  the  key  hole,  and  flattened  himself  against  the 
door  on  the  inside.  The  tinkle  of  the  bell  had  scarcely 
sounded  in  the  hall  when  a  light  footstep  was  heard  in 
echo  to  its  clamor,  and  a  beautiful  young  girl  hastened 
to  the  door.  She  opened  it,  but  the  ghost  stepped  before 
her  and' faced  the  smiling,  blushing,  bowing  young  man, 
threw  his  gaunt  arms  around  his  neck,  and  in  a  hollow 
whisper  began, 

"  Darling!  I  have  watched  so  long  for " 

A  terrific  yell  rang  through  the  corridors  like  almost 
any  other  yell  would  ring  under  similar  circumstances. 
A  rush  of  hasty  feet  along  the  gravel  walk,  a  stumble,  a 
crash  and  a  dismal  howl  at  the  site  of  the  fallen  gate ; 
then  the  dying  echoes  of  fleet,  pattering  footsteps  in  the 
distance,  and  then  silence,  dispossessed  of  her  curtained 
throne  for  one  brief  moment,  resumed  her  noiseless  reign, 
and  the  smiling  ghost,  after  a  vain  effort  to  dig  himself 
in  the  ribs,  chuckled  with  dismal  jollity  and  hid  his 
shadowy  form  in  the  recesses  of  the  porch. 

The  young  girl  stood  spell-bound,  gazing  out  in  the 
direction  of  her  vanished  lover,  and  shaking  her  lovely 
head  in  mute,  astonished  negations,  in  response  to  the 
hurried  and  excited  inquiries  of  the  family,  who  came 
swarming  into  the  hall  in  all  possible  stages  and  degrees 
of  amazement  and  terror,  propounding  with  great  volu- 
bility all  the  conundrums  which  would  naturally  suggest 
themselves  in  consequence  of  such  an  astounding  and 
unheralded  and  unprovoked  outburst  of  human  voice. 

"  1  cannot  imagine  what  did  ail  him,"  she  said  at 
length,  when  her  stern  father,  in  mild  reproof,  had  laid 

16 


224  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

his  heavy  hand  upon  her  rounded  shoulder,  and  oscil- 
lated her  lithe  form  to  and  fro  until  her  back  hair  was  in 
her  hands,  and  the  floor  w^s  strewn  with  hair-pins  and 
samples  of  curls,  thick  as  autumnal  leaves  and  one  thing 
and  another  strew  the  brooks  in  Vallambrosa  and  vicinity. 
"  I  opened  the  door,  and  before  I  could  say  *  Good 
evening,'  he  opened  his  mouth  to  its  fullest  extent,  and 
with  a  look  of  horror,  fled  from  my  presence,  leaving  no 
token  save  an  amount  of  noise  altogether  incommensurate 
with  his  size.  I  can't  imagine  what  he  could  have  seen 
to  affect  him  so.  I  was  afraid  at  first  that  I  hadn't 
rubbed  the  pearl  powder  out  of  my  eyebrows,  but  I  had." 

Every  member  of  the  convention  offered  a  suggestion 
or  an  explanation  of  the  mysterious  affair,  but  they  were 
all  overruled  by  paterfamilias,  who,  venturing  the  gruff 
opinion  that  the  young  man  was  in  the  habit  of  placing 
himself  exterior  to  sundry  and  various  decoctions  dis- 
pensed at  those  retail  drug  stores  which  are,  by  law, 
closed  on  Sundays,  and  had  merely  incurred  that  pecu- 
liar form  of  mental  distemper  in  which  the  patient  keeps 
a  private  menagerie  on  exhibition  in  his  boots,  drove  his 
wondering  family  back  to  the  parlor. 

But  youth  is  buoyant.  Its  sorrows  are  transient  and 
its  tears  are  April  rain,  flecked  with  the  sunshine  even 
while  they  fall ;  its  fears  are  short  lived  as  its  sorrows, 
and  die  away  when  the  thought  or  scene  that  gave  them 
birth  is  gone.  So  he  who  flew  from  the  hideous  shadow 
that  had  veiled  the  fairy  figure  of  his  love  from  his  fond 
gaze,  blushed  in  the  darkness  at  his  nervous  fancy,  and 
re-arranging  his  wardrobe,  retraced  his  steps  with  more 
of  that  native  grace  and  innate  dignity  peculiar  to  the 
young  man  of  the  nineteenth  century,  than  he  had  dis- 
played while  making  his  presence  seldom.  Again  he 
passed  the  wreck  of  the  demolished  gate,  and  once  more 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  225 

he  rang  the  bell,  and  listened  for  the  echoing  footfall, 
while  the  attentive  specter  came  and  stood  demurely  at 
his  elbow. 

"You  horrid  boy,"  murmured  a  sweet  voice  through 
the  keyhole,  "I  have  a  great  mind  not  to  let  you  in. 
What  made  you  act  so  perfectly  ridiculous  ? " 

"  Dearest,"  the  young  man  said,  "  it  was  a  foolish,  hor- 
rible fancy;  I  will  never  frighten  you  again." 

'*  It  was  perfectly  dreadful,"  she  replied,  "  horribly, 
dreadfully  awful.  How  could  you  be  so  perfectly  hor- 
ridly dreadful  .-*     But  you  may  come  in  this  time." 

And  with  coquettish  deliberation  she  opened  the  door, 
to  see  the  ghost,  bending  his  smiling  gaze  upon  her  color- 
less face  and  staring  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  in  hollow  tones,  "  since  you 
insist  upon  it,  I  will  come " 

"Oo-oo-^^-E-E-E-E!" 

And  thump  !  She  dropped  to  the  floor  with  a  velocity 
and  abruptness  that  even  astonished  her  ghost.  Dumb 
with  amazement,  her  lover  stood  gazing  at  her  form,  lying 
prone  upon  the  new  hall  carpet,  emitting  a  series  of  long- 
drawn  shrieks.  He  recoiled,  as  again  the  members  of 
the  family  came  pouring  and  buzzing  out  of  their  rooms, 
like  hornets  from  their  domicile  on  a  swaying  apple  tree 
bough,  jarred  rudely  by  the  unconscious  granger's  tower- 
ing head.  The  angry  father  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
trembling,  half-stupefied,  and  thoroughly  mystified  youth, 
standing  near  the  door-way,  appealingly  and  timorously 
offering  his  explanations.  The  parent,  with  a  few  hurried 
words,  disappeared  up  stairs.  Quickly  he  returned, 
bearing  in  his  hands  a  ponderous  shot-gun,  at  the  sight 
of  which  the  young  man,  without  pausing  to  explain, 
fled  quite  as  precipitately,  and  with  as  little  ceremony, 
as  he  liad  sauntered  away  from  the  embrace  of  the  ghost. 


226  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  Because,"  he  remarked  to  the  wind,  which  was  vainly 
trying  to  keep  pace  with  his  flying  movements  as  he 
cleared  the  fallen  gate  with  a  bound,  and  waltzed  airily 
down  the  road,  as  though  tight  boots  were  a  vision  and 
an  unreal  dream,  "  because  the  old  man  appears  to  be  a 
trifle  impatient  to-night,  and  I  would  not  cross  him  in 
his  sadder  moods.  He  might  do  that  to-night  for  which 
to-morrow  I  might  mourn." 

And  deftly  passing  from  twelve  to  fifteen  linear  feet 
of  solid  earth  beneath  each  foot,  oft  as  he  raised  it 
from  the  ground,  with  swift  evasion  he  transferred  him- 
self  to  healthier  climes  and  more  congenial  scenes. 

The  indignant  father,  meanwhile,  had  stepped  out  on 
the  porch,  and  holding  his  warlike  weapon  a-port,  peered 
angrily  into  the  gloom  for  a  glimpse  of  the  flying  figure, 
whose  distant,  echoing  footsteps  he  could  faintly  hear. 

"  Thou  art  so  dear,"  he  said,  "and  yet  so  far." 

To  him  the  silent  ghost  approached.  Standing  by  his 
unconscious  side,  the  specter  leaned  his  bony  elbow 
upon  the  mortal  shoulder,  resting  his  hollow  cheek  upon 
his  attenuated  hand.  Then,  with  a  graceful  motion  and 
an  easy  gesture,  of  which  a  ballet  dancer  might  be  proud, 
he  drew  aside  the  lower  portion  of  his  drapery,  disclosing 
to  view  a  pair  of  emaciated  shins  of  which  a  ballet 
dancer  would  most  certainly  be  ashamed.  Crossing  one 
of  these  specimens  of  anatomical  curiosities  in  front  of 
the  other,  he  rested  the  bended  limb  upon  the  toes,  and 
stood  thus  for  a  moment,  in  that  elegant  and  charming 
pose  so  much  affected  by  our  best  young  men  at  the 
opera  and  theater,  who  place  themselves  on  exhibition 
for  the  untaught  multitude  upon  every  possible  occasion. 

For  a  few  brief  moments  he  stood  thus,  wrapped  in 
admiration  of  his  refined  and  elegant  appearance,  then 
dropping  his  face  and  turning  it  until  'his   breath,  if  he 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  227 

had  any,  would  have  swept  the  cheek  of  his  unconscious 
companion,  he  said : 

"  Let  me  entreat  you,  dear  sir,  to  do  nothing  rash.  Let 
me  implore  you  to  put  by  your  murderous  weap " 

Bang!  bang!  Two  loads  of  death -dealing  buckshot 
perforated  the  roof  of  the  porch,  and  the  howl  of  an 
elderly  voice  mingled  with  the  crashing,  discordant  echoes 
that  rose  clattering  through  the  darkness.  The  slam  of 
a  door,  and  the  rush  and  scramble  of  many  feet  suc- 
ceeded, followed  by  the  clanging  of  locks  and  bolts ;  the 
subdued  hubbub  of  many  voices  could  be  heard,  detail- 
ing in  many  exaggerated  phrases,  extravagant  narratives, 
and  with  a  smile  of  grim  amusement  playing  across  his 
expressive  features,  like  a  telegraphic  line  from  one  ear  to 
the  other,  the  specter  learned,  as  he  listened  at  the  key- 
hole, that  while  the  master  of  the  house  had  been  stand- 
ing on  the  porch,  a  pale  blue  light  suddenly  clove  the 
night,  accompanied  by  a  sulphurous  smell,  in  the  midst 
of  which  appeared,  rising  out  of  the  ground,  a  colossal 
body  with  five  heads,  and  with  hideous  gashes  yawning 
in  its  throats,  from  which  the  welling  blood  flowed  down, 
and  splotched  and  streaked  the  long  white  robe  with 
horrible  carmine  stains.  Its  many  eyes,  the  patrician 
said,  glared  like  burning  coals,  and  its  hair  twined  and 
wreathed  itself  in  fantastic  shapes,  like  living  serpents. 

The  specter  assumed  a  thoughtful  look  as  he  listened 
to  these  terrible  revelations. 

"It  is  barely  possible,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  a  maligned 
apparition.  From  his  vivid  powers  of  imagination,  and 
a  slight  tendency  to  exaggerated  word  coloring  in  narra- 
tion, one  would  take  this  elderly  party  for  one  of  the 
gifted  prevaricators  who  deal  in  political  prophecies  in 
the  presidential  year.  I  may  not  be  a  very  handsome 
ghost,  but  I  do  most  profoundly  believe  that  this  portly 


228  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Ananias  who,  I  see,  is  just  now  leaving  the  room  to  learn 
how  his  daughter  is  coming  on,  has  most  foully  traduced 
my  personal  appearance.  And  while  there  is  no  one  in 
this  apartment  save  that  comfortable -looking  old  lady, 
who  has  been  terrified  and  mystified  into  motionless 
silence,  I  will  quietly  step  in  and  settle  this  vexed  ques- 
tion by  consulting  the  pier  glass." 

With  that  graceful,  easy  manner  which  is  characteristic 
of  a  well-bred  ghost,  he  slid  through  the  keyhole,  and  a 
moment  later,  stood  singeing  his  bloodless  shins  before 
the  blazing  grate,  while  he  made  a  critical  inspection  of 
his  visage  in  the  mirror.  After  studying  the  picture  for 
some  moments  in  silence,  he  stroked  his  chin  with  a 
complacent  air  while  a  smirk  of  self  satisfaction  played 
over  his  features. 

"  Any  mortal,"  he  murmured,  "  who  would  flee  in  terror 
from  such  a  face  as  that ;  any  man  who  could  detect  any 
thing  like  an  unearthly  glare  in  those  hollow  eyes ;  any 
creature  who  can  find  it  in  his  heart  to  announce  the  dis- 
covery of  hair  on  that  head,  or  find  a  trace  of  blood 
about  that  figure,  from  throat  to  heels,  is  a  lunatic,  and 
should  be  looked  after.  Be  looked  after,"  he  added,  in 
an  absent  way,  "  Looked  after.     Looked  after." 

"  And,"  he  continued,  after  a  few  moments'  delibera- 
tion, "  I  should  like  to  be  appointed  to  look  after  him. 
He  would  then  have  a  more  faithful  conservator  than 
was  ever  appointed  by  a  county  court.  I  would  interest 
and  amuse  him,  and  strive  to  divert  his  mind  from  the 
troubles  which  appear  to  have  so  disordered  his  imagina- 
tion and  distorted  his  vision  and  faculties  of  observation. 
I  would  keep  him  in  a  state  of  constant  mental  activity. 
I  would  help  him  around,  and  I  would  make  myself  use- 
ful to  this  family  in  a  variety  of  ways.  For  instance,  I 
would  make  this  old  gentleman  so  distrustful  of  that  long 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS,  229 

walk  up  the  hill  after  dark  that  he  never  would  stay 
down  town  late  at  night,  and  could  not  be  induced  to 
attend  lodge,  or  'just  step  down  to  the  post-office' 
after  supper.  I  would  imbue  his  very  nature  with  such 
an  utter  abhorrence  for  dark  places  that  he  would  never 
kiss  the  hired  girl  behind  the  cellar  door.  Never  again ; 
ne  -  ver,  ne  -  ver.  I  would  reform  this  man,  and  make  this 
family  happy,  and  this  house  should  resound  with  mani- 
festations of  excitement  and  exclamations  of  astonish- 
ment, and  indications  of  very  dubious  merriment,  as  it 
were.  I  see  much  good  in  this  virtuous  and  happy  pro- 
ject, and  I  will  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  this  excel- 
lent lady  of  the  mansion,  convince  her  of  the  necessity 
of  a  protector  for  herself  and  her  family,  and  carry  my 
plans  into  operation.  I  have  a  conviction  that  this  would 
be  a  most  comfortable  house  to  haunt." 

He  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  matron,  and  laying  his 
icy  fingers  against  her  cheek  to  arouse  her  attention,  and 
holding  his  throat  shut  with  the  other  hand  to  prevent 
his  voice  escaping  prematurely  at  the  aperture  which 
has  been  previously  referred  to,  said,  in  a  louder  voice : 

"  You  will  pardon  the  abruptness  of  my  speech,  my 
dear  madam,  but  I  deem  it  my  duty  to  inform  you  that 
it  is  my  firm  belief  this  part  of  town  is  haunted.  Yes, 
ma'am,  haunted.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  indeed,  if 
there  was  a  ghost  somewhere  in  this  house  this  very 
minute.     In  fact  I  have  every  reason  for  believing " 

Thus  far  his  auditor  had  preserved  such  a  respectful 
silence  that  the  speaker  believed  she  was  listening  with 
rapt  attention,  and  he  fondly  hoped  that  he  had  at  last 
found  a  friendly,  appreciative  gossip  who  would  not 
interrupt  his  remarks  with  ill-timed  applause  before  he 
was  half  through.  Looking  at  her  face,  however,  at  this 
moment,  the  expression  of  her  countenance  was  such  as 


230  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

chilled  him  with  disappointment.  She  was  not  splitting 
the  night  air  with  blood-curdling,  discordant  shrieks,  it 
is  true,  but  it  evidently  wasn't  her  fault.  Her  eyes  had 
left  their  sockets  and  were  standing  out  on  her  cheek- 
bones with  nothing  particular  to  do  except  to  stare  at 
each  other  across  the  top  of  her  nose,  each  with  an 
expression  of  blank  amazement  at  seeing  the  other  there. 
Her  mouth  was  alternately  closing  with  sudden  jerks  and 
distending  with  spasmodic  gasps ;  noiseless,  but  all  the 
more  provoking  on  that  very  account.  She  appeared  to 
be  making  strenuous  efforts  to  rise,  but  as  every  attempt 
to  assume  an  erect  posture  brought  her  closer  to  the 
ghost,  she  sank  back  helplessly  in  her  chair  after  every 
effort,  and  resumed  her  dreadful  staring  and  noiseless 
gasping. 

"  You  had  better  scream,  madame,"  said  the  disgusted 
ghost.  "  Pray,  do  not  restrain  yourself  on  my  account.  It 
is  really  painful  for  me  to  witness  your  suffering.  If  my 
presence  here  is  distasteful  to  you,  pray  have  the  good- 
ness to  intimate  the  fact  in  the  abrupt  and  startling 
manner  so  much  affected  by  this  family.  You  had  better 
express  your  emotions,  if  you  have  any.  If  you  have 
through  any  little  passing  thrill  of  excitement,  tempora- 
rily lost  the  use  of  your  voice,  and  find  some  difBculty 
in  recovering  it,  perhaps  I  can  assist  you." 

With  a  horrible  leer  he  withdrew  the  drapery  from  his 
neck,  and  leaning  back  his  head  disclosed  the  gaping 
incision  in  his  respiratory  and  swallowing  apparatus 
which  had  compelled  him  to  go  into  the  ghost  business. 
As  he  "had  shrewdly  conjectured,  that  startling  displav 
developed  the  full  action  of  the  old  lady's  dormant  vocal 
powers,  and,  for  the  next  five  minutes.  Bedlam  was  a 
([uiet,  sequestered  cloister  in  comparison  with  that  house. 
For  an  instant  the  author  of  all   the  uproar  paused  to 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  23I 

smile  at  the  vociferous  woman  screaming  till  the  chan- 
delier trembled,  and  pounding  a  vigorous  tattoo  on  the 
floor  with  her  aged  heels,  and  then  he  left  the  house, 
merely  stopping  as  he  went  to  look  in  on  the  kitchen, 
and  by  one  genial  wink  at  the  servants  establish  a  first- 
class  English  opera  chorus  in  that  department  of  the 
household. 

He  then  passed  out  into  the  chill  air,  and  gliding 
slowly  along  the  gravel  walk,  paused  to  contemplate  the 
ruins  of  the  front  gate  and  speculate  on  the  whereabouts 
of  the  handsome  youth  who  had  so  lately  enacted  the 
part  of  a  modern  Samson,  and  had  torn  down  the  gates 
to  Gaza  little  on  the  loved  face  which  parental  tyranny 
would  thereafter  conceal  from  his  ardent  gaze  forever. 

"Tt  is  ever  thus,"  moralized  the  ghost;  "at  once  the 
mightiest  and  the  weakest  being  in  created  life,  God's 
noblest  work  is  the  toy  of  bodiless  phantoms.  We  tear 
down  and  we  build  up;  we  purpose  and  we  prevent;  we 
do  and  we  undo;  we  overcome  every  real  difficulty,  and 
surmount  every  actual  obstacle,  and  at  last,  when  our 
object  is  all  but  accomplished — lo,  a  shadow  terrifies  us, 
and  the  courage  and  labor  of  an  hour,  a  year,  or  a  life- 
time, are  swept  into  ruins.  At  least,  we  U3ed  to  do  thus. 
1  have  left  the  firm,  but  the  surviving  partners  carry  on 
the  business  of  life  in  pretty  much  the  same  old  style. 
The  world  invents  a  great  deal,  but  it  doesn't  improve 
very  much.  It  is  the  same  old  world,  after  all.  It  has 
the  locomotive  and  the  telegraph,  true;  but  the  men  who 
invented  the  locomotive  and  the  telegraph  loved,  feared, 
hoped  and  lived  pretty  much  as  Caesar's  couriers  and 
Dido's  sailors  used  to.  Men  declaim  against  the 
remotest  possibility  of  the  spirits  of  the  dead  revisiting 
the  glimpses  of  the  moon,  and  yet  my  presence  affects  in 
the  same   unpleasant  and  "turbulent  manner  alike   the 


232  RISE    AND.  FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

most  skeptical  and  the  most  credulous  and  surperstitious. 
I  believe,  speaking  of  spirits,  I  will  go  down  town  to  a 
certain  house  I  wot  of,  where  parties  of  my  friends,  the 
Spiritualists,  hold  frequent  seances,  at  which  they  con- 
verse familiarly,  though  ungrammatically,  with  the  spirits 
of  their  own  deceased  friends,  and  of  the  illustrious 
dead.  They  will  be  glad  to  see  me,  I  know,  because  I 
am  intimately  acquainted  with  some  of  the  parties  whom 
they  occasionally  summon  back  to  earth,  and  they 
will  be  glad  too,  because  I  can  correct  some  of  tlie 
erroneous  ideas  they  entertain  in  regard  to  the  present 
condition  of  some  of  these  spirits  who  are  constantly 
writing  back,  in  such  execrable  English  as  would  make 
a  cultured,  intelligent  ghost  blush,  how  happy  they  are, 
and  how  glad  they  are  that  they  died,  and  how  much 
they  know.  I  am  as  contented  a  ghost  as  one  can  find 
under  the  republic,  and  I  never  was  glad  that  I  died,  and 
I  never  write  to  any  of  my  relatives,  and  never  visit  any 
of  them,  except,''  he  added  thoughtfully,  "  my  dear 
haunt."  And  he  chuckled  grimly  over  his  ghastly  little 
joke. 

In  another  moment  he  was  seated  comfortably  beneath 
a  table  which  was  surrounded  by  a  party  of  seekers  after 
truth,  who  were  patiently  sitting  up  for  the  latest  returns 
fr©m  the  spirit  world.  The  ghost  was  much  touched  by 
the  anxiety  displayed  by  a  young  man  in  very  long  hair 
and  green  spectacles  to  hear  from  his  departed  uncle. 
The  spirit  mails  were  snowed  in,  or  intercepted  by 
guerrillas,  or  held  for  postage,  or  suffering  from  some 
other  cause  of  detention  that  Christmas  Eve;  for  it 
seemed  as  though  the  young  man  never  would  receive  so 
much  as  a  postal  card  from  his  deceased  relative.  The 
ghost  pitied  him,  and  just  as  the  medium,  a  beautiful 
young  girl  of  forty-  nine  summers,  was  passing  into  another 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  233 

trance,  he  crawled  out  from  under  the  table  and  bowed 
pleasantly  to  the  anxious  inquirer. 

"  I  think  I  can  allay  any  anxiety  you  may  feel  on 
account  of  your  departed  avuncular  relative,"  he  said; 
"  I  have  met  him  several  times,  and  although  the  peculiar 
and  pressing  nature  of  his  engagements  elsewhere  pre- 
vents his  attending  in  person  social  assemblies  on  this 
side  of  the  ground,  he  is " 

He  ceased  speaking  at  this  point,  for  his  voice  had 
long  een  drowned  in  the  uproar  of  shrieks,*  and  breaking 
furniture,  and  crashing  glass,  as  the  seance  broke  up 
along  with  the  tables  and  chairs,  and  the  anxious  seekers 
after  truth  emerged  .nto  the  night  with  window  sashes 
hanging  round  their  necks.  Foreseeing  that  there  would 
be  trouble  if  he  did  not  emigrate  in  order  to  permit  the 
wanderers  to  return  and  resurrect  the  overturned  stove, 
the  messenger  from  the  realm  of  shadows  departed  and 
once  more  sought  his  station  on  the  hill.  And  again  he 
whistled  "Down  Among  the  Dead  Men"  through  his 
teeth,  while  he  smiled  pensively,  and  communed  with  his 
own  pleasant  thoughts. 

"It's  just  as  I  said,"  he  mused;  "had  I  been  that 
young  man's  uncle,  whom  he  so  earnestly  desired  to  see, 
his  terror  would  have  been  just  as  great.  They  rap  and 
call  for  us,  they  implore  us  to  come,  and  when  we  come 
they  go.  And  they  go  very  abruptly.  Some  of  those 
people  to-night  got  out  of  that  room  by  edging  through 
fissures  that  would  squeeze  the  very  breath  out  of  the 
leanest  ghost  I  ever  saw.  Believer  or  skeptic,  it  makes 
no  difference.  Saul  was  not  more  terrified  at  Samuel's 
ghost,  which  he  was  so  anxious  to  see,  than  was  the 
witch  who  accidentally  raised  the  apparition.  But  these 
broken,  interrupted  interviews  with  terrified  mortals  are 
growing  monotonous.     I  will  stay  out  all  night,  because 


234  I^lSE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

it  is  Christmas  Eve  and  my  night  out,  but  I  will  spend 
the  remaining  silent  hours  in  meditation,  and  let  the 
wicked  old  world  sleep  in  peace,  unless,  mayhap,  some 
belated  wayfarer  should  stray  this  way,  when  I  will  re- 
venge myself  upon  him  for  the  shabby  treatment  I  have 
received  at  mortal  hands  to-night.  I  will  frighten  him 
so  that  he  will  not  be  through  screaming  when  I  come 
here  again  next  Christmas  Eve.  I  have  tried  to  be 
agreeable  to  everybody  to-night,  and  everybody  has 
refused  to  be  sociable,  and  has  repulsed  my  courteous 
advances  with  the  most  hideous  shrieks  and  uproar. 
And  to  the  next  hapless  mortal  who  shall  cross  my 
haunt,  I  will  be  terrible." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  knotted  his  face  with  a  series 
of  horrible  contortions  and  hideous  grimaces,  which  he 
practiced  until  he  acquired  one  which  appeared  to  satisfy 
his  fastidious  taste.  This  one  he  exercised  several  times 
in  order  to  fix  it  firmly  in  his  memory,  and  then,  folding 
his  arms,  he  leaned  against  the  railing  and  gloomily 
waited  for  a  customer,  as  ill-natured  and  unhappy  a 
ghost  as  could  be  found  in  all  the  haunts  of  men  or 
specters. 

His  ghostship  did  not  have  long  to  wait  for  a  subject, 
standing  there  in  the  gloomy  street,  with  the  cold,  glit- 
tering stars  occasionally  peeping  timidly  through  the 
rifted  clouds  sailing  overhead.  Before  long  a  heavy  foot- 
fall was  heard  ascending  the  lower  part  of  the  hill,  and 
then,  as  it  came  nearer,  the  dismal  one  could  hear  the 
frosty  earth  creaking  under  the  passenger's  feet  at  every 
step  he  topk.  A  voice  which  was  marked  by  that  pecu- 
liar intonation  which  we  so  frequently  notice  in  close 
proximity  to  a  pick  or  a  hod,  uttered,  in  sentences  so 
profusely  vaccinated  with  trilled  r's  that  it  sounded  like 
a  high  school   commencement,    a    wrathful    objurgation 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  235 

upon  the  wind,  as  the  winter  zephyr  well  nigh  lifted  the 
speaker  froin  his  feet. 

"Growl  about  that,  will  you?"  muttered  the  ghost, 
with  savage  gleefulness,  "  I'll  make  you  wish  the  wind 
had  blown  you  into  the  moon  before  you  get  to  the  top 
of  the  hill.  I  wish  he  would  walk  more  slowly/'  the 
specter  went  on,  rubbing  his  fleshless  hands  in  delighted 
anticipation  ;  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  moments' 
quiet  enjoyment  in  contemplating  the  possible  and  prob- 
able actions  of  the  worst  frightened  man  in  America.  I 
have  been  accused  of  frightening  people  before  now,  but 
those  vile  slanders  against  my  considerate  and  pacific 
disposition  and  my  reassuring  physiognomy  will  all  be 
retracted  and  atoned  for  after  to  -  night.  After  this  man's 
experience  no  man,  no  living  mortal  will  dare  stand  up 
and  say  that  any  one  was  ever  frightened  prior  to  this 
date.  Why,  there  won't  be  as  much  hair  left  on  this  in- 
dividual's head,  in  about  three  mi:iutes,  as  would  make 
me  a  switch.  All  the  doctors  in  America  won't  be  able 
to  get  his  eyes  back  into  their  proper  places.  He 
will  howl  and  yell  and  shriek  and  pray  to  the  day  of  his 
death.  Scared.'*  It  isn't  the  word.  It's  too  weak. 
Whistle,  will  you.^  "  he  continued,  apostrophizing  the 
approaching  figure, "  I'll  make  you  wish  you  had  a  French 
horn  fifteen  feet  long,  with  all  the  keys  open  and  the 
mouth  -  piece  cracked,  to  express  your  feelings  through. 
Why,"  he  said,  arranging  his  robe  and  twisting  his  face 
into  such  a  bood  -  curdling  awful  contortion  that  it  raised 
a  blister  on  the  frozen  ground  and  the  very  wind  turned 
and  blew  up  hill  for  dear  life;  "why,  my  unsuspicious 
republican,  you'll  be  the  worst  demoralized  community 
in  about  fifteen  seconds  that  ever  disturbed  the  holy  quiet 
of  midnight." 

Stretching    out    his    gaunt    arm    in    a   weird,  ghostly 


236  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

gesture,  the  white  drapery  faUing  away  from  it  in  conven- 
tional folds,  the  specter  stepped  out  to  the  middle  of  the 
sidewalk  to  confront  the  coming  man.  A  man  of 
medium  size,  the  new-comer,  with  bluff  square  shoulders, 
twinkling  eyes,  a  nose  that  had  been  made  of  a  remnant 
so  that  the  unfinished  end  retreated  toward  the  eyes,  a 
mouth  puckered  up  in  a  melodious  whistle,  the  head 
covered  "with  an  abundance  of  closely -cut  hair  of  the 
shade  of  St.  Louis  pressed  brick ;  a  ragged  coat  was 
buttoned  close  and  the  wearer  carried  under  his  arm  a 
walking- stick  of  most  benevolent  aspect,  the  bulge  on 
the  end  of  which  reminded  one  of  an  invitation  to  join 
the  innumerable  caravan.  His  whistle  ceased  as  the 
ghost  loomed  up  before  him,  not  suddenly  cutting  off  his 
tune  in  the  middle  of  the  note,  but  in  a  long-drawn 
diminuendo  passage,  commonly  expressive  of  inexpressi- 
ble astonishment. 

The  ghost  slowly  and  impressively  waved  his  extended 
arm  in  the  direction  of  the  gloomy  ravine.  The  mortal 
shuffled  uneasily  toward  the  middle  of  the  street  in  an 
effort  to  get  round  the  unpleasant  obstruction.  The 
specter  noiselessly  glided  before  him  and  still  confronted 
him  with  outstretched  arm  and  hideous  countenance, 
and  both  figures  regarded  each  other  in  silence.  The 
mortal  was  the  first  to  open  the  conversation,  who,  after 
muttering  under  his  breath,  *'  The  saints  betune  us  and 
har-rum,  an'  phwat  is  he  makin'  thim  faces  at  me  for.'" 
remarked  in  a  brisk  tone : 

"Cool  avenin'!" 

Motionless  as  a  statue,  the  ghastly  figure  glowered 
upon  him  in  its  frozen  attitude  and  terrifying  gesture. 

"  Is  it  Tim  Moriarity,  as  died  the  year  before  I  kim' 
over,  I  don'  know  ?  " 

No  reply  and  no  change  of  posture  on  the  part  of  the 
specter. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EVETEMS.  237 

"  Is  it  the  Feenicks  boys  ye  are  thin,  as  kilt  aich  other 
the  night  ov  the  ball  at  the  creek  three  years  ago  come 
nixt  September  an'  jist  two  months  lackin'  six  weeks  after 
O'Flaherty's  sisther  dhrove  the  cow  off  the  wagon  bridge  ?  " 

Still  the  specter  maintained  its  silence  and  its  position.* 

"  Ye  Ve  a  mighty  familiar  countenince,  onyhow,"  con- 
tinued the  mortal,  who  kept  up  his  cautious  maneuvering 
for  the  weather  gauge,  in  which  he  was  steadily  baffled 
by  the  ghost.  "  It  seems  to  me  I've  seen  the  face  av  yez 
somewhare  on  a  tombstone.  Yer  not  livin'  fur  around 
here,  mebbe  ?  " 

In  hollow  tones  the  ghost  replied,  "I  am  dead." 

"  Did,  is  it .''  Oh,  the  saints  rist  yer  ristless  sowl.  An' 
phwat  are  ye  doin'  out  here  .-^  Whaire  do  ye  live — I 
mane,  whaire  are.  ye  buried.'*" 

"At  the  top  of  this  hill,"  came  in  the  same  hollow 
tones. 

"  An'  a  mighty  agreeable  place  that  same  is,  to  be 
sure,"  replied  the  mortal,  in  a  conciliatory  intonation, 
"  shlapin'  undher  the  grass,  wid  the  cows  and  pigs 
browsin'  and  rootin'  around  all  day  long  an'  kapen'  ye 
company  nights.  Born  divil  that  ye  air,"  he  added,  in 
a  lower  tone,  "  I  wisht  wan  or  the  other  of  us  wur  thayre 
now,  fur  it's  a  on  pleasant  company  ye  air,  anyhow. 
Well,"  he  added,  aloud  and  with  great  cheerfulness, 
"good  night  till  ye.     Be  good  to  yerself." 

"  Stay,"  uttered  the  terrible  monotone ;  "  come  thou 
with  me." 

"  Oh-h,  the  dev —  I  beg  yer  par-r-don.  I  mane  I  can't 
think  of  it.  Luk  at  the  time  it  is,  an' see  the  murdherin' 
cowld  I  have  in  me  head  already,  along  ov  being  out  till 
midnight.  The  wife  and  childher  '11  be  did  intirely  wid 
sittin'  up  fur  me,  an' ** 

"  Follow  me !"  said  the  hollow  tones  of  the  ghost. 


238  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  Oh-h,  tundher  an'  turf — I  mane — I  begyer  par-r-don, 
don't  bhpake  of  it ;  it's  a  married  man  I  am.  I  can't 
sthay ;  besides,  there's  no  use — ivery  place  in  tOwn  is 
shut  up,  and  sorra  the  wan  ov  me  dhrinks  av  they  wasn't. 
I  wouldn't  taste  a  dhrop  av  I  lived  in  lashins  ov  it;  I'm 
a  whole  Father  Mathew  society  by  myself." 

"  Come  !  Come ! !  Come ! ! !  "  The  sepulchral  tones 
boomed  out  like  a  bass  drum  solo. 

"Aw-w-w!  Millia  murther!  Go  aisy  now!  Phwat 
du  ye  mane,  divilin'  the  tin  sinses  out  of  me  to  come, 
whin  ye  see  I.  want  to  go?  By  the  mortial  gob,"  he 
added,  under  his  breath,  "  av  I  thought  I  cud  find  any- 
thing in  yer  head  to  feel  it,  avick,  I'd  make  ye  raisonable 
wid  a  welt  ov  this  splinther  av  a  sthick.  Whist !  ye 
bloody  minded  villin  !"  he  roared,  with  suddenly  increas- 
ing courage,  as  some  wakeful  Brahma  in  a  neighboring 
coop  startled  the  night  with  a  stentorian  crow,  which  was 
shrilly  echoed  by  a  bantam  and  a  dozen  or  more  obscure 
roosters  of  no  particular  strain,  like  the  birds  that  crow 
at  election  times,  "  Do  ye  hear  that  ?  An'  that  ?  An' 
that  agin?  An'  the  wan  afther  that?  Scat!  ye  bloody 
minded  Banshee,  or  we'll  crow  the  rags  aff  o'  yer  beggarly 
back!" 

The  ghost  gave  a  hollow  laugh,  that  sounded  like  water 
pouring  out  of  a  jug. 

"  You  may  crow,"  he  said,  more  in  his  easy  conversa- 
tional style  and  tone  than  he  had  been  using,  "  till  you 
split  your  throats  ;  this  is  an  anniversary  night  with  me, 
and  I  won't  go  home  till  morning." 

His  uneasy  companion's  face  fell  at  this  announce- 
ment, and  he  looked  like  a  man  who  felt  that  he  had 
prematurely  committed  himself.     But  he  rallied  again. 

"  A  anniver-sary,  is  it  ?     Do  ye  have  it  often  ?" 

"  About  once  a  year." 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  239 

"  Is  that  all  ?  An'  just  think  ov  yer  makin'  so  much 
fuss  about  that !  Kape  on  yer  hat,  or  what  iver  ye  call 
it,  or  ye'U  have  a  cowld  in  the  head.  Good  avenin', 
agin." 

The  ghost  mildly  protested  against  his  haste.  It  was 
Christmas  Eve,  he  said,  a  season  devoted  to  sociability 
and  good  fellowship 

"An'  a  foine  idee  ye  have  of  bein'  sociable,  too," 
interrupted  his  auditor;  "Christmas  is  a  nice  enough 
saison,  but  a  frayzin'  hillside  at  midnight,  wid  the  wind 
blowin'  a  jimmycane  an'  the  thermomether  twinty-sivin 
degrays  ferninst  Cairo,  isn't  the  way  I'm  thinking  to  be 
sociable  about  it,  jist." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  have  met  you  under  such " 

"  Faix,  thin,  thayre's  only  wan  of  us  that's  feeling  so 
delighted  about  it." 

" Favorable  and  pleasant  circumstances.    I  should 

never  have  forgiven  myself  had  I  permitted  you  to  pass 
by  without  speaking.     I  must  insist " 

"Begorra,  thin,  it's  too  har-r-d  ye  wad  be  on  yersilf 
intirely.  It's  me  that  wad  give  mesilf  absolution  fur  a 
week  av  I  had  gone  around  the  other  way  an'  never  heard 
ov  ye  in  me  life." 

" On  your  further  acquaintance." 

**  Thrue  for  you,  avick,  an'  the  furdther  it  is  the  betther 
it  wud  shuit  me.  An'  the  quicker  we  star-r-t,  don't  ye 
see,  the  furdther  we  can  make  it  before  mornin'.  I  know 
I'll  think  betther  ov  ye  whin  I  can't  see  ye.  Good 
avenin'." 

"Stay,"  said  the  specter,  detaining  him  as  he  sought 
to  hurry  by,  *'  I  have  that  to  tell  you,  and  that  to  show 
you,  to-night,  which  will  make  you  a  rich  man,  and  send 
me  back  to  my  narrow  resting  place " 

"  Oh-h-h  !  hear  'im  talk  about  it !  " 


240  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


■Never  to  leave  it  agarn  until  the  last  dread  trump 


shall  summon  me." 

"Don't  mintion  it,  don't;  don't  shpake  ov  it  at  all,  at 
all." 

"My  tale  is  brief  and  sad." 

"An' have  ye  a  tail,  thin.?" 

"Listen!" 

"Shpake!" 

"  In  early  life " 

"Phwat's  that?" 

" 1  plowed  the  raging  main." 

"An'  was  ye  a  Granger,  thin.'"' 

"  Nay,  I  was  a  pirate !  " 

"Same  thing;  kape  on;  it's  frazin  I  am." 

"I  steeped  my  wicked  hands  in  human  gore  for  many 
years.  When  my  atrocious  crimes  had  amassed  me  a 
princely  fortune,  I  repented  me  of  my  evil  ways." 

"Musha,  thin,  it  war  you  for  knowin'  whin  10  repint." 

"I  bade  adieu  to  my  evil  companions,  and  taking  my 
share " 

"Ah,  did  ye,  though.'*  An'  it  was  a  cautious  ould 
reformer  ye  was,  all  the  same." 

" of  our  ill-gotten  spoils,  I  fled  west — far  to  the 

inland^pursued  by  the  stings  of  an  avenging  conscience 
and  a  sheriff's  posse." 

"It  was  thim  as  stirred  up  yer  conshince." 

"  I  reached  this  city  in  safety  and  hid  my  gold,  stained 
with  human  lives,  in  yonder  deep  ravine.  Oft  as  I  needed 
money,  I  came  here  by  night  and  got  what  I  wished." 

"Can  ye  get  any  ov  it  now,  do  ye  think.'*  " 

"One  winter  night  —  a  cold,  bleak  Christmas  Eve — 
returning  from  such  a  visit  to  my  hoard,  I  was  waylaid 
by  two  men,  who  suspected  my  secret,  on  this  very 
spot " 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  241 

"GooDavenin'!" 

"  Stay  yet  one  moment.  They  seized  me,  hurled  me  to 
the  ground " 

"Here?" 

*'On  this  very  spot  where  now  we  stand.     They " 

"  Let's  walk  furdther  down  the  hill." 

"Listen.  They  hurled  me  to  the  ground,  and,  as  I 
struggled  for  my  gold,  they — slew  me!" 

"  Phwat !  " 

"They  cut  my  throat  from  ear  to  ear!  " 

"  M-i-1-l-i-a  m-u-r-d-t-h-e-r !     An'  did  it  hurt  ?  ** 

"It  haggled  some,  but " 

"An'  did  yez  niver  git  over  it.^  " 

"  I  died  !  " 

"  Oh.  h-h-h !    Bones  of  the  martyrs !    GOOD  avenin  !  '* 

"Stop   ■  moment.     I " 

"Al  ye.:,  shtop  a  minit.  It's  yerself  is  the  pleasant 
man  1o  be  shtoppin'  wid,  on  a  hillside  at  midnight.  Go 
on,  thin,  for  it's  starvin'  wid  the  cold  I  am." 

"I  died  wheie  I  fell;  and  a  coroner's  jury,  after  due 
deliberatioii,  returned  a  verdict,  on  my  lifeless  remains, 
that  *  the  alleged  deceased  came  to  his  probable  death  in 
a  fit  of  temporary  inanition,  induced  by  the  administer- 
ing of  narcotic  drug  or  drugs,  by  some  visitation  of 
Providence  to  the  jury  unknown.'" 

"Wiir  that  all,  alanna?  I  thought  ye  said  they  cut  the 
throat  ov  ye." 

"They  did.  But  the  intelligent  citizens  who  composed 
the  coroner's  jury  could  not  see  that  that  had  anything 
to  do  with  it.  Since  that  time,  once  a  year,  on  every 
anniversary  of  my  untimely  death,  I  am  forced  to  leave 
my  grave ' 

"  Oh,  mortial  man  !  don't. shpake  ov  it  at  all,  an'  us  out 
here  in  the  dark  an'  could,   and  niver  a  dhrop  ov  any- 


242  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

thing  to  rise  the  cockles  ov  me  heart  wid  nearer  than 
town.     But  kape  on." 

*' and  haunt  this  hill.     My  spirit  can  not  rest   in 

peace  until  the  money  which  I  left  concealed  from  human 
gaze  shall  be  given  into  hands  fit  to  be  entrusted  willi 
wealth." 

"An'  is  that  all,  acushla?  Go  back  to  yer  den,  and 
dhraw  yer  stool  in  to  the  fire,  an'  be  comfortable.  Show 
me  whare  to  dig  jist,  and  sorrow  light  upon  me  av  ye'll 
ever  have  any  more  nade  to  wake  up  an'  worry  about 
another  cint  as  long  as  ye  live — I  mane,  as  long  as  ye 
don't  live.  Whare's  yer  bank?  Divil  be  in  me  but 
thare'U  be  such  a  run  on  it  in  about  ten  minits  they'll 
think  thare's  an  ould-fashioned  American  panic  broke 
loose  in  ghostland,  for  a  truth.  Can't  shlape  because  ye 
can't  give  yer  money  awa}^ !  Musha,  thin,  it's  meself 
can't  shlape  often  enough  because  I  haven't  ony  to  give 
away,  or  to  kape,  ayther.  Show  me  yer  threasury,  avick; 
I'm  yer  oysther." 

"Years  ago  I  might  have  given  it  away,  had  men  but 
known  my  secret.     But  the  spell  laid  upon  me " 

"A  spell  ov  what  ?  " 

" forbade  me  to  reveal  my  hidden  wealth    until  I 

should  meet  a  man  going  home  sober,  on  Christmas  Eve, 
who  would  not  be  afraid  of  me.  The  condition  was  a 
hard  one,  for  although  in  my  annual  hauntings  I  have 
met  many  men  plodding  up  this  hill  too  drunk  to  be 
frightened,  you  are  the  first  sober  man  I  have  met  on 
Christmas  Eve  since  the  city  was  an  Indian  trading 
post." 

"Ah  well  then,  it's  small  blame  to  them,  for  it's  gettin' 
ready  to  shwear  off  New  Year's  day  they  are,  the  whole 
jing-bang  ov  thim.     Troth,  they  do  that  every  year." 

"  You  did   not   manifest  any   fear  at   my  sudden  ap- 


AND    OTHER    H  AWK  -   EYE TEMS.  243 

pearance.       Yoa    were   not,   apparently,    afraid   of   me; 
you " 

''Afraid,  is  it  ?  '* 

"  I  merely  remarked  that  you  were  not  afraid  of  me." 

"  Is  it  me  ?  " 

"I  said,  my  quick-tempered  friend,  that ' 

*'  Is  it  you  ?  " 

*' Calm  yourself,  my  bellicose  mortal,  I  simply " 

"Listen  to 'im !  Hear 'im  talk  about  ony  body  bein 
ashkared  ov  an  ould  bag  o'  bones  sthandin'  in  the  dark 
makin*  faces !  Why,  ye  consaited  old  skeleton,  is  it 
comin'  to  Ameriky  to  be  shkared  wid  you  I'd  be,  whin 
we  had  a  ghosht  ov  our  own  in  tlie  Olild  Sod  for  mere 
nor  twinty  years?  A  ghosht  that  wur  worth  bein* 
shkared  ov,  too." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  the  ghost.  "Are  you  quite 
certain  that  your  own  family  was  favored  with  the  per- 
manent society  of  a  ghost."*  You  will  pardon  me  for  in- 
timating that  your  appearance  and  dress  do  not  indi- 
cate a  station  in  life  that  calls  for  such  a  condition  of 
things.  For  I  am  decidedly  under  the  impression  that 
we  are  permitted  to  haunt  only  aristocratic  families,  who 
inhabit  large  rambling  houses,  with  long  gloomy  corridors 
and  magnificent  bay  windows  and  lofty  mansard  roofs 
and  heavy  mortgages  ;  full  of  dark  corners  and  conven- 
ient hiding  places  for  ghosts,  and  frequently  so  uncom- 
fortable and  dreary,  especially  on  the  occasion  of  a  poor 
relation's  visit,  that  no  one  but  a  ghost  can  enjoy  living 
in  them.  I  once  knew  a  most  respectable  ghost,  a  specter 
of  a  most  extraordinarily  rugged  constitution,  who 
haunted  one  of  these  houses,  and  went  to  sleep  in  the 
spare  room  one  night  and  was  so  laid  up  with  the  rheu- 
matism that  he  was  unable  to  get  out  of  his  grave " 

''The  saints  betune  us!'    Don't  mintion  it !  " 


244  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

" for  nearly   six  weeks.     I  took   his    place  at  the 

mansion  during  his  indisposition.  A  dreary,  frosty  place 
enough,  fitted  up  elegantly  with  a  thousand-dollar  piano, 
a  costly  mechanic's  lien,  Brussels  carpets,  a  chattel  mort- 
gage or  two,  French  plate  windows,  a  tax  title,  and  a  few 
similar  expensive  luxuries.  I  did  not  wish  to  be  laid  up 
with  the  rheumatism,  so  I  took  preventives  instead  of 
cures.  From  being  frosty  and  chilly,  I  made  that  house 
the  warmest  place  this  side  of " 

"  Don't  say  it,  alanna  !     Skip  that!  '* 

" the  equator,"  pursued  the  ghost,  quietly.     "It 

soon  became  the  most  hospitable  mansion  on  the  street. 
It  was  full  of  company  all  the  time,  and  poor  relations 
came  and  got  square  meals  and  slept  in  the  best  beds 
and  were  made  welcome.  You  can  not  imagine  how  I 
softened  that  old  fellow's  proud  heart.  And  you  must 
excuse  me  if  I  say  that  you  do  not  appear  to  belong  to 
that  favored  class  which  is  honored  with  hereditary 
ghosts.  A  ghost,  my  unsophisticated  friend,  is  an  ex- 
pensive luxury." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  it  is,  thin.  The  wan  we  had  was  the 
most  expinsive  thing  we  wur  ever  throubled  wid.  He 
kim  till  the  house  in  me  father's  time  an'  I  dunno  how 
long  befoar." 

"Did  he  look  like  me?" 

"  Sorra  the  wan  ov  him.  He'd  ate  a  rigimint  ov  yez  in 
a  minit.  Shouldhers  like  a  sailor  an'  a  head  set  on  'im 
like  a  bull  dog's.  He  wur  a  ghosht  now  that  cud  talk  to 
ye  about  bein'  ashkared  ov  him." 

"Does  he  ever  annoy  —  that  is,  entertain  you  now.?  " 

"  Faix,  thin  he  doesn't.  It  isn't  here  he  cud  live  at 
all,  at  all.  It  wur  in  the  ould  counthry  he  did  be  vexin' 
us  an*  teasin'  the  life  out  ov  us  from  mornin'  till  night." 

"  Why,  did  he  appear  in  the  daytime,  then  ?  " 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  245 

"  It  wur  grace  fur  his  bones  that  he  did.  Be  the  holy- 
poker,  alanna,  it  wur  waitin'  fur  him  in  the  dark  twinty 
times  a  month  we  was.  Catch  an  Irish  ghosht  comin'  in 
the  dark.     He  knowed  whin  to  come." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  to  lay  the  ghost?" 

"  VVanst.  The  byes  laid  him  wid  a  blackthorn  stick, 
an'  sorra  the  wan  of  him  throubled  us  agin  fur  six  weeks 
afther." 

"  I  don't  understand.  Why  did  he  haunt  you  ?  What 
was " 

"  Why  did  he  .'*  For  the  rint,  av  coorse.  It  was  the 
thavin'  ould  landlord,  bloody  end  to  him.  Talk  about 
ghosts !  The  ould  boddagh  Sassenagh  gev  us  more  throuble 
in  wan  day  than  the  whole  jing-bang  ov  such  thin- 
legged  spooks  as  yerself  cud  make  us  in  a  week.  Thare 
was  wan  time  the  ould  swaddler  kim  down  to  Muldoo- 
nery's  shebeen — ye  knew  the  Muldoonery's.'*" 

"  The  name  is  familiar,  but  I  can  not  say  that  I  ever 
had  the  honor  of  the  family's  acquaintance." 

"  The  betther  for  you  thin,  for  ye  died  wid  a  whole 
head " 

"  But  my  neck  was  spoiled." 

"Oh-h,  by  this  an'  by  that,  listen  to  him!  Don't  sphake 
ov  it.  The  Muldoonerys  was  me  father's  own  family. 
Ould  Malachi  Muldoonery,  wan  of  the  Killatalicks,  thim 
as  was  own  cousins  to  the  O'Slaughtery's  of  Killgobbin  — 
ah,  thim  was  the  high-toned  wans  fur  ye ;  when  it  come 
to  ould  families,  they  lifted  the  pins,  jist.  They  had  a 
ghosht  ov  thare  own,  a  rale  wan,  sphooky  enough  to 
frighten  a  horse  from  his  oats,  that  wore  a  long  night- 
shirt like  yer  own,  an*  carried  his  head  undher  his  arm. 
Oh,  Gog's  blakey,  but  he  wur  the  boss  ghosht.  He  wur 
beheaded  fur  headin'  a  rebellyun  three  hundhred  years 
ago.     Ah,  tare-an-ouns,  the   tussle   me  own   uncle,  who 


24»J  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MLSTALlii:, 

was  an  O'Slaughtery,  had  wid  this  same  ghosht  wanst. 
We  heard  the  sphook  thramplin'  up  an'  down  the  hall,, 
fur  he  always  wore  a  shurt  of  armor  undher  his  white 
dhress,  an'  me  uncle  got  up  an'  wint  out,  an'  peerin*^ 
down  the  dark  hall,  sees  him. 

" '  Arrah  !  '  sez  me  uncle. 

"  Sorra  the  word  sez  the  ghosht. 

''  '  Are  ye  thaire?  '  sez  me  uncle. 

"The  ghosht  stopped  walkin'  and  screwed  on  his  head 
like  the  head  ov  a  cane. 

"  '  An'  phwat  av  I  am  ?  '  sez  he. 

"  '  Come  out  o'  that,  thin,  ye  bladdherhang,'  sez  me 
uncle. 

" '  I  won't,  thin,'  sez  the  ghosht. 

"  '  Ye'd  betther,'  sez  me  uncle. 

*'  *  I  hadn't  thin,'  sez  the  ghosht. 

"  *  Do  ye  know  what  this  is,  ye  omadhawn  ?  '  sez  me 
uncle,  balancin   his  blackthorn. 

"  '  None  o'  yer  chaff,'  sez  the  ghosht. 

'*'  I  wont  lave  a  whole  bone  in  yer  carkidge,'  says  he. 

''  *  1  hwat !  '  sez  the  ghosht. 

"  *  I  wont !  '  sez  he. 

"  '  Yer  a  liar  ! '  sez  he. 

" '  Is  it  me  ?  '  sez  he. 

•'  *  Show  me  yer  head  ! '  sez  he. 

"  '  Whoop  ! '  sez  he. 

*' '  Hurroo  !  "  sez  he. 

"Whack!  wint  the  black -thorn,  and  wid  that  the 
whole  house  was  roused  wid  a  bellerin'  an'  roarin'  that 
wud  shame  the  bulls  ov  Bashan.  It  was  me  uncle,  an*" 
they  found  him  out  dures  tied  to  the  gate  -  posht  wid  a 
bed-  cord  half  a  mile  long  and  knotted  up  that  way  that 
it  tuk  thim  till  after  daylight  to  ontie  him,  for  sorra  tlie 
knot  cud  they  cut.     Oh,  heavy  heart  go  wid   the  ghosht 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS,  247 

that  tied  him  out  in  the  cowld  that  a- way.  An'  afther 
they  got  hiin  untied  he  died." 

"  Immediately  ?  "  asked  the  specter. 

"  Och,  the  divil,  no;  about  twenty -sivin  years  afther. 
But  this  isn't  tellin'me  about  that  famous  bank  ov  yours  ?  " 

"True,"  said  the  specter  "we  are  losing  time.  To 
you,  who  have  kept  sober  Christmas  Eve,  and  have 
scorned  to  desecrate  and  profane  the  sacred  memories  of 
the  season " 

"  Tower  ov  ivory  !  "  vvhisi)ered  the  exile  of  Killatalick, 
"  av  that  isn't  purty  good  for  an  ould  cut -throat  ov  a 
pirate!  " 

" and  have    shown    the    integrity  of    your  moral 

being " 

"An  phwat's  thim,  I  wondher.'*  " 

" in  that  you  feel   no    fear  of  visitants  from   the 

spirit  world,  to  you  I  commit  gold  won  by  dishonest 
means,  but  which  at  last  reaches  honest  hands  that  will 
devote  it  to  worthy  purposes.  Come  with  me,  and  do  as 
1  tell  you." 

Crossing  himself  with  an  energy  and  rapidity  that 
indicated  a  slight  lack  of  confidence  in  the  moral  stand- 
ing of  his  guide,  the  descendant  of  the  Muldoonerys  of 
Killgobbin  followed  his  ghostly  leader  down  the  hill- side 
into  the  hollow  and  along  the  course  of  the  bewildered 
and  frozen  brook,  until  they  paused  before  an  irregular 
wall  of  rock,  long  ago  cut  down  by  the  action  of  the 
water.  As  they  stood  before  this  rude  wall,  the  specter 
turned  to  his  companion. 

"  If,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  you  do  not  feel  as  though 
you  could  maintain  the  strictest  silence,  and  not  utter  a 
word  or  an  exclamation,  no  matter  what  wonders  you 
may  see,  do  not  follow  me  farther.  The  charm  which 
opens  the  care  of  my  hidden  wealth  to  your  eyes,  closes 


248  RISE    AND    FALL   OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

it  in  destruction  on  any  violation  of  the  spell  under 
which  I  am  held.  Are  you  ready?  On  your  life  now, 
do  not  utter  a  sound." 

The  ghost  touclied  the  rock  with  his  bony  hand.  It 
yawned  like  a  door,  and  in  the  cavern  behind  the  gloomy 
entrance  they  crept,  crouching,  along  a  narrow  passage 
until  the  roof  arched  and  they  stood  erect.  An  open 
chest  lay  at  their  feet;  glittering  jewels  sparkled  like 
stars  in  the  gloom;  precious  stones  in  the  mysterious 
coffer  gleamed  till  their  rays  pierced  the  shadowy  pall  of 
the  cavern  with  a  pale,  tremulous  light.  At  a  silent 
motion  from  the  specter,  the  mortal,  trembling  with 
excitement  and  eagerness,  bent  down  and  seized  the  chest. 
'Once,  twice,  thrice,  he  strained  every  muscle,  and  tugged 
until  it  seemed  as  though  his  eyes  were  bursting  from 
their  sockets,  but  the  glittering  fortune  seemed  immov- 
able. He  set  every  nerve  for  one  tremendous  effort;  he 
braced  his  feet  firmly,  and  once  more  grasped  the  handles 
of  the  coffer.  It  moves !  The  ransom  of  an  empire  is 
his! 

'"S'matter  'ith  you  fellers.?  Hie!  Watchu  doin'.? 
Hey?" 

The  blinding  light,  and  the  deafening  crash  that  fol- 
lowed, lasted  scarce  the  duration  of  the  lightning's  flash, 
and  all  was  darkness  and  silence.  When  the  gray  light  of 
morning  quenched  the  beams  of  the  paling  stars,  the  exile 
woke  to  consciousness  to  find  himself  lying  outside  the 
spell-bound  cavern,  with  the  unbroken  rock  looming  cold 
and  pitiless  beside  him,  and  his  dream  of  wealth  was  gone. 
A  faint  odor  of  stale  whisky  kissed  the  wintry  zephyrs, 
and  a  shattered  bottle  in  the  near  distance  lay  like  a 
mournful  memory  of  his  happy  dreams.  When  the 
unhappy  man's  friends  discovered  him,  they  took  in  all 
the  conditions  of  the  cheerless  bivouac,  and  when  in  the 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  249 

cozy  surroLiiidings  of  his  home  he  told  his  marvelous 
narrative,  they  were  skeptical  enough  to  declare  that 
they  believed  all  the  story  about  the  ghost  and  the 
cavern  and  the  money  chest  was  only  the  inspiration  of 
that  bottle  before  it  was  broken,  and  that  the  exile  of 
Killgobbin  saw  the  light  and  heard  the  crash  when  he 
staggered  over  the  edge  of  the  wall  and  broke  his  head. 
But  he  still  believes  that  if  the  young  fellow  who  went 
into  camp  on  the  hillside  at  the  opening  of  this  story  had 
not  finished  his  sleep  and  broke  in  upon  them  in  such  an 
untimely  manner,  he  would  never  again  have  done  a 
harder  day's  work  than  cutting  off  coupons  from  govern- 
ment bonds. 

The  rest  of  us  know  that  this  is  true.  And  if  any 
young  man  doubts  the  truth  of  this  veracious  chronicle, 
he  can  easily  verify  its  statements  by  keeping  sober  next 
Christmas  Eve,  and  patrolling  the  quiet  streets  until  he 
meets  the  ghost.  And  if  he  doesn't  see  the  specter,  he 
will  at  least  enjoy  the  singular  sensation  of  going  home 
sober  Christmas  Eve,  a  thing  of  much  greater  rarity  and 
wonder  to  most  of  "  the  boys"  than  an  interview  with  a 
Moneyed  Ghost. 


250  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MIDDLERIB'S    PICNIC. 


*' T  T  isn't  age  that  makes  people  grow  old,"  Mr.  Middle- 
-L  rib  remarked  to  his  family  as  they  were  gathered  at 
the  breakfast  table.  "  It  is  incessant  application ;  it  is 
unending,  incessant  work  and  worry.  The  mind,  the 
body,  all  the  faculties,  mental  and  physical,  are  kept  on 
the  alert  without  rest  or  recreation,  until  outraged  nature 
rises  in  rebellion  against  the  slavery  to  which  it  is  sub- 
jected, and  deluded  man,  with  all  the  aches  and  tremor 
of  senility  in  his  young  joints,  awakes  to  find  that  he 
has  lived  his  three  score  years  and  ten  in  half  his  allotted 
number  of  days."  And  with  this  sage  remark  Mr.  Mid- 
dlerib  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  regarded  his  family 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  just  imparted  a  volume  of 
information  that  would  stagger  the  average  comprehen- 
sion. 

"That's  what  ailed  these  spring  chickens,  I  reckon,'* 
suggested  Master  Middlerib,  struggling  with  a  wing  that 
was  supplied  with  the  latest  improved  fish-plate  joints; 
"  wore  themselves  out  trying  to  lay  ten  years'  eggs  in 
five." 

Mr.  Middlerib  gazed  at  the  boy  in  a  meaning  manner, 
and  the  young  gentleman  immediately  elevated  one  of 
his  elbows  until  it  was  as  high  as  his  head,  and  held  his 
guard  up  while  he  warily  regarded  his  parent's  disen- 
gaged hand.  But  the  usual  consequences  did  not  fol- 
low, and  Mr.  Middlerib  proceeded  to  announce  that  he 
would   shake  off  the  sordid  cares  of  business,  and  free 


MIDDLERUVS  PICNIC. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  25  I 

himself  from  the  shackles  of  commercial  servitude,  and 
enfoy  a  picnic  with  his  family  and  a  few  chosen  friends. 
And  immediately  upon  this,  the  family  loosed  their 
tongues  and  talked  all  together,  and  as  loud  and  fast  as 
possible  for  twenty -five  minutes.  Then,  Mr.  Middlerib, 
smiling  benignly  upon  the  scene  of  pleasure  which  his 
announcement  had  created,  went  off  to  his  office.  When 
he  returned,  Miss  Middlerib  had  a  list  made  out  of  the 
people  they  would  invite.  It  embraced  one  hundred  and 
fifteen  names,  not  including  alternates,  and  Mr.  Middle- 
rib's  jaw  fell  as  he  gazed  at  the  catalogue. 

"  Daughter,  dear,"  he  remarked,  as^  soon  as  he  could 
command  his  feelings,  "do  you  take  me  for  Calvary  Mis- 
sion Sunday-school,  that  you  have  included  the  census 
of  this  city  in  our  picnic  .-*  " 

Then  explanations  were  demanded,  and  it  appeared 
that  Mr.  Middlerib's  idea  had  been  to  take  a  couple  of 
big  wagons,  furnished  with  temporary  seats,  and  have  a 
decidedly  rustic,  old-fashioned  picnic,  of  an  exclusively 
family  nature.  And  Miss  Middlerib  sat  down  and  blotted 
out  an  even  hundred  names  with  tears,  after  which  Mr. 
Middlerib  gazed  upon  the  revised  and  corrected  list,  ex- 
punged edition,  and  pronounced  it  good.  Then  they 
fixed  upon  the  day,  which  was  settled  after  much  wran- 
gling and  profound  discussion.  Mr.  M.  went  out  and 
looked  at  the  sky,  and  noted  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
and  watched  the  movements  of  the  chimney  swallows 
with  a  critical  and  scientific  eye,  and  came  in  and 
announced  that  it  would  not  rain  for  five  days,  and  they 
would  have  the  picnic  just  two  days  before  the  rain. 
And  from  the  hour  of  that  announcement  the  Middlerib 
family  and  their  invited  relations  did  nothing  but  bake, 
and  roast,  and  stew,  and  iron  clothes,  and  declare  they 
were  tired  to  death  and  would  be  glad  when  it  was  all 


252 

over  and  done  with.  It  is  a  somewhat  remarkable  fact 
that  all  people  who  make  up  their  minds  to  go  to  a  pic- 
nic, always  do  say  that  they  will  be  glad  when  it  is  over, 
and  act  as  though  they  were  going  merely  as  an  act  of 
self-denial  and  a  mortification  of  the  flesh. 

But  when  the  day  finally  rolled  around,  as  days 
will  roll,  the  excitement  was  at  its  height.  The  sun 
struggled  to  his  place  at  the  usual  hour,  as  soon  as  he 
was  called,  and  his  broad,  red  face  had  a  terribly  wild 
and  dissipated  look  as  he  glared  through  the  bank  of 
clouds  that  curtained  his  getting  up  place,  as  though  he 
had  been  tearing  around  all  night,  and  had  never  had  his 
boots  off,  and  had  only  got  up  to  collar  the  water  pitcher. 
No  wonder  the  whole  party  lost  confidence  in  such  a  sun 
the  moment  they  looked  at  him.  He  looked  too  much 
like  a  prodigal  sun,  just  before  he  got  starved  into  re- 
form, rather  than  a  smiling,  cheery  picnic  sun.  And  the 
Middleribs  took  turns  going  out  singly  and  in  -small 
groups  to  look  at  him,  and  revile  his  unpromising  appear- 
ance, and  after  each  observation  they  would  return  to  the 
house  and  ask  each  other  in  tones  somewhat  tinged  with 
a  tender  melancholy,  "Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it.**" 
And  the  questioned  one  would  stifle  a  sigh  and  reply  "  I 
don't  know,  do  you  1 " 

There  is  no  scene  in  all  this  wide  world  of  pathos  more 
pathetic  than  a  group  of  anxious  mortals,  on  the  morn  of 
a  picnic,  trying  to  delude  each  other  into  the  belief  that 
when  the  sky  is  covered  with  heavy  black  clouds,  800 
feet  thick,  and  a  damp  scud  is  driving  through  the  air, 
and  the  sun  is  only  half  visible  occasionally  through  a 
thin  cloud  that  is  waiting  to  be  patched  up  to  the  stand- 
ard thickness  and  density,  it  is  going  to  be  a  very  fine 
day  indeed.  So  the  Middleribs  looked  at  the  coppery 
old  sun,  and  the  dismal  clouds,  and   tried  to  look  cheer- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  253 

ful,  and  said  encouragingly  that  "  Oh,  it  never  rained 
when  the  clouds  came  up  that  way ;"  and,  "  See,  it  is  all 
clear  over  in  the  east;"  and,  "  It  often  rains  very  heavily 
in  town  when  there  doesn't  a  drop  of  water  fall  at  Pros- 
pect Hill."  And  thus,  with  many  encouraging  remarks 
of  similar  import,  they  awaited  the  gathering  of  the  party, 
and  the  human  beings  finally  climbed  into  one  wagon, 
put  the  baskets  and  the  boys  in  the  other,  and  drove 
away,  giggling  and  howling  with  well  dissembled  glee. 

The  happy  party,  although  they  well  knew  that  it 
would  not  rain,  had  taken  the  precaution  nevertheless  to 
take  a  large  assortment  of  shawls  and  umbrellas.  They 
were  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  town  when  it  began  to 
thunder  some,  but  as  it  didn't  thunder  in  the  direction 
of  Prospect  Hill,  distant  some  three  miles,  they  went  on, 
confident  that  it  wasn't  raining,  and  wouldn't,  and  couldn't 
rain  at  Prospect  Hill.  They  were  half  a  mile  from  town 
when  the  cloud  that  all  the  rest  of  the  clouds  had  been 
waiting  for  came  up  and  remorselessly  sat  down  on  the  last, 
solitary  lingering  patch  of  blue  that  broke  the  monotony  of 
the  leaden  sky,  but  the  party  pressed  on,  confident  that 
they  would  find  blue  sky  when  they  got  to  Prospect  Hill. 
They  were  a  mile  from  town  when  old  Aquarius  pulled 
the  bottom  out  of  the  rain  wagon  and  began  the  enter- 
tainment. It  was  a  grand  success.  The  curtain  hadn't 
been  up  ten  minutes  before  all  the  standing  room  in  the 
house  was  taken  up  and  the  box  office  was  closed.  The 
Middlerib  party  having  gone  early,  and  secured  front 
seats,  were  able  to  see  everything.  They  expressed  their 
pleasure  by  loud  shrieks,  and  howls,  and  wails.  They 
tore  umbrellas,  that  had  been  furtively  placed  in  the 
wagon,  out  of  their  lurking  places,  and  shot  them  up 
with  such  abruptness  that  the  hats  in  the  wagon  were 
knocked  out  into  the  road.     Then  the  wagon  stopped  and 

18 


254  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

people  crawled  out  and  waded  around  after  hats,  and 
came  piling  back  into  the  wagon,  with  their  feet  loaded 
with  mud.  The  umbrellas  got  into  each  other's  way,  and 
from  the  points  of  the  ribs  streams  of  dirty  water  trickled 
down  shuddering  backs,  and  stained  immaculate  dresses, 
and  took  the  independence  out  of  glossy  shirt  fronts. 
And  the  picnic  party  turned  homeward,  but  still  the 
Middleribs  did  not  lose  heart.  They  smiled  through 
their  tears,  and  Miss  Middlerib,  beautiful  in  her  grief, 
still  advocated  going  on  and  having  the  picnic  in  a 
barn,  and  wept  when  they  refused  her.  It  rained  harder 
every  rod  of  the  way  back.  Then  when  they  got  every- 
body and  every  thing  into  the  house,  the  heart-rending 
discovery  was  made  that  the  boys  had  taken  the  rubber 
blanket  which  was  to  have  covered  the  baskets  in  case 
of  rain,  a^ud  spread  it  over  themselves  when  the  moisture 
gathered,  and  consequently  the  edibles  were  in  a  state  of 
dampness. 

Then  the  clouds  broke,  and  the  sun  came  out,  and 
smiling  nature  stood  around  looking  as  pleasant  as 
though  it  had  never  played  a  mean  trick  on  a  happy 
picnic  party  in  its  life ;  and  the  Middleribs  hung 
themselves  out  in  the  sun  to  dry,  and  tried  to  play  croquet 
in  the  wet  grass,  and  kept  up  their  spirits  as  well  as  they 
knew  how,  and  were  not  cross  if  they  did  get  wet.  If 
smiling  nature  had  only  given  them  a  show,  or  even  half 
a  chance,  they  would  have  got  along  all  right.  They 
were  bound  to  have  the  picnic  party  anyhow,  so  they 
kept  all  the  relations  at  the  house,  and  when  dinner  time 
came,  the  grass  was  dry  and  they  set  the  table  out  under 
the  trees  and  made  it  look  as  picnicky  as  possible.  It 
clouded  up  a  little  when  they  were  setting  the  table, 
but  nobody  thought  it  looked  very  threatening.  The 
soaked   things  had   been   dried   as  carefully  as  possible. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  255 

.and  the  table  looked  beautiful  when  they  gathered  around 
it.  And  just  about  the  time  they  got  their  plates  filled 
and  declared  that  they  were  glad  they  came  back,  and 
that  this  was  ever  so  much  better  than  Prospect  Hill,  a 
forty  acre  cloud  came  and  stood  right  over  the  table,  and 
then  and  there  went  all  to  pieces. 

That  was  what  spoiled  the  picnic. 

The  pleasure-seekers  grabbed  whatever  they  could 
reach  and  broke  for  the  house,  uttering  wild  shrieks  of 
dismay.  They  crowded  into  the  hall,  which  wasn't  half 
big  enough,  and  there  they  stood  on  each  other's  trains, 
and  trod  on  each  other's  corns,  and  poured  coffee  down 
each  other's  backs,  and  jabbed  forks  into  one  another's 
arms.  When  one  frantic  looking  woman  would  rush  in 
and  set  a  plate  of  cake  down  on  the  floor  while  she  dived 
out  into  the  rain  with  a  woman's  anxiety  to  recover  some 
more  provisions  from  the  dripping  wreck,  a  forlorn  looking 
man  would  immediately  step  on  that  plate  of  cake,  and 
stand  there  gazing  wonderingly  and  apprehensively  at  the 
shrieking  crowd  around  him,  ix)inting  their  forks  and 
fingers  at  him  and  at  his  feet,  and  yelling,  in  a  deafening 
chorus,  something  as  utterly  unintelligible  as  "  shouting 
proverbs."  And  when  the  man,  in  a  vain  effort  to  do 
something  in  compliance  with  the  shrieking  which  was 
evidently  intended  for  him,  stepped  off  the  cake  and  stood 
in  a  huge  dish  of  baked  beans  for  a  change,  the  wail  of 
consternation  that  went  up  from  the  congregation  fairly 
rent  the  bending  skies.  And  when  Uncle  Steve,  who  had 
found  Aunt  Carrie's  baby  out  under  the  deserted  table, 
maintaining  an  unequal  struggle  with  half  of  a  huckle- 
berry pie  and  a  whole  thunder-storm,  came  tearing  in 
with  the  hapless  infant,  and,  dasliing  through  the  crowd, 
deposited  it  on  top  of  a  pile  of  hard-boiled  eggs.  Miss 
Middlerib  fainted,  and  the  youngest  gentleman  cousin 


256  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

was  driven  into  a  spasm  of  jealousy  because  he  couldn't 

walk  over  a  row  of  cold  meats  and  lobster  salad  to  get 

to  her,  and  had  to  endure  the  misery  of  seeing  the  oldest 

and  ugliest  bachelor  uncle  carry  her  drooping  form  to  a 

sofa,  and  lay  her  down  tenderly,  with  her  classic  head  in 

a   nest  of  cream   tarts   and   her  dainty    feet  on   Sadie's 

Jenny  Lind  cake.     And  when  Mrs.  Middlerib  looked  out 

of  the  window,  and   saw  the   dog   Heedle  with  his  fore 

paws  in  the  leinonade  bucket,  growling  at  Cousin  John, 

who  was  trying  to  drive  him  out  of  it,  she  expressed  a 

willingness    to   die    right    there.     And  when   they   were 

startled  by  some  unearthly  sounds  and  muffled  shrieks, 

that   even   rose  above  the  human  babel  in  the  hall,  and 

found  that  the  cat  had  got  its  poor  head  jammed  tighter 

than  wax  in  the  mouth  of   the  jar  that  contained    the 

cream,  everybody  just  sat  on  the  plate  of  things  nearest 

him,   and   gasped,   "What  next.'*"    while  Cousin  David 

lifted  cat  and  jar  by  the  tail  of  the  former,  and  carried 

them  out  to  be  broken  apart.    And  when  old  Mr.  Rubel- 

kins  lost  his  teeth  in  the  coffee  pot,  half  the  people  in 

the  hall  began  to  lose  heart,  and  one  discouraged  young 

cousin  said  he  half  wished  that  they  had  put  the  picnic 

off  a    day.     And    finally,  when    the    uproar  was    at    its 

height,  the  door-bell  rang,  and  the  aunt  nearest  the  door 

opened  it,  and  there  stood  the  Hon.  Mrs.  J.  C.  P.  R.  Le 

Von    Blatheringford   and   her  daughter,  the  richest  and 

most   stylish   people    in  the  neighborhood,  arrayed   like 

fashion-plates,  making  their  first  formal  call.    While  they 

stood  gazing  in  mute  bewilderment  at  the  scene  of  ruin 

and  devastation  and  chaos  before  them,  Mrs.  Middlerib 

just  got  behind  the  door  and  pounded  her  head  against 

the  wall;  while  Miss  Middlerib,  springing  from  her  sofa, 

ran  to  her  room,  leaving  a  trail  of  Jenny  Lind  cake  and 

cream  tarts  behind  her,  as  the  fragments  dropped  from 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  257 

her  back  hair  and  heels.  And  the  rest  of  the  company, 
staring  at  the  guests  with  their  mouths  full  of  assorted 
provisions,  and  their  hearts  full  of  bitter  disappointment, 
mumbled,  in  hospitable  chorus,  "Wup  pin,"  which,  had 
their  mouths  been  empty,  would  have  been  rendered, 
"Walk  in." 

This  blow  settled  the  picnic.  Gloom  hung  over  the 
house  the  rest  of  the  day.  Mr.  Middlerib  decided,  after 
the  company  had  departed,  that  the  easiest  and  cheapest 
way  to  clean  the  hall  would  be  to  turn  the  river  through 
it.  And  that  night,  when  they  were  assembled  at  a  com- 
fortless tea  table — Master  Middlerib  having  been  sent  to 
bed  so  sick  that  they  didn't  think  his  toe-nails  would  be 
able  to  hold  down  till  morning — Mr.  Middlerib  said : 

"  It  isn't  the  steady,  honest,  ambitious  devotion  to 
business  that  makes  men  old.  Labor  is  a  law  of  our 
nature.  We  are  happiest  and  most  content  when  we  are 
busiest.  It  is  the  healthful  labor  of  the  day  that  brings 
the  sweet,  refreshing  repose  of  the  night.  Pleasure  flies 
us  when  we  seek  her ;  she  comes  to  us  when  we  least 
regard  her  calls.  Remember  what  I  have  always  said, 
and  find  your  pleasure  in  your  daily  work — in  the  regular 
routine  of  daily  life,  and  its  duties  and  useful  avocations 
— and  age  will  only  come  upon  you  slowly,  and  youth 
will  linger  in  your  hearts  and  on  your  faces  long  years 
after  the  allotted  days  of  youth  are  past.  The  next  time 
you  want  to  have  a  picnic,  remember  how  often  I  have 
warned  you  against  them." 


258  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MASTER  BILDERBACK'S    POULTRY  YARD. 


IF  there  was  anything  she  abominated  more  than  one 
thing,  Mrs.  Bilderback  used  to  say  with  some  warmth, 
it  was  another,  and  that  was  chickens.  And  she  reso- 
lutely protested  against  keeping  any  of  them  about  the 
place.  She  wanted  to  keep  a  few  flowers  this  year,  and  she 
wasn't  going  to  be  mortified  again  as  she  was  last  Summer, 
by  having  every  woman  who  called  at  that  house  smile 
at  the  forest  of  bare  stalks  and  scraggy  branches  that 
stood  for  the  collection  of  house  plants  that  she  and  her 
daughter  tried  to  raise  for  ornaments  to  the  place,  but 
which  were  really  of  no  use  except  to  fill  the  crops  of  a 
lot  of  long-legged,  hungry  chickens.  And  for  a  long 
time  the  good  lady  held  out  stoutly  against  the  chicken 
proposition,  but  was  at  last  over- argued  and  over-per- 
suaded and  gave  her  unwilling  consent  for  Master  Bil- 
derback to  keep  three  dozen  chickens,  the  party  of  the 
second  part  binding  himself  to  keep  the  table  supplied 
with  fresh  eggs  and  spring  chickens,  and  to  keep  all  hens, 
roosters,  and  all  young  chickens  of  unknown  sex,  but  of 
sufficient  physical  development  to  scratch,  out  of  the 
front  yard  and  away  from  the  flower  beds.  This  con- 
tract Master  Bilderback  placed  himself  under  heavy 
bonds  to  carry  out,  by  saying,  "honest  injun,"  "  pon 
nonnor,"  and  "  'cross  my  heart,"  and  having  solemnly 
repeated  this  awful  and  impressive  formula,  he  went 
sedately  out  of  the  room  and  immediately  threw  himself 
down  on  a  verbena  bed,  where  he  pounded  the  ground 
with  his  heels  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  joy.     In  due  time  the 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  259 

new  hen-house  was  completed,  and  Mr.  Bilderback, 
breathing  maledictions  on  the  wretches  who  pulled  the 
picke's  off  his  front  fence  for  kindling  wood,  had  that 
important  boundary  repaired  before  he  noticed  that  the 
apertures  in  the  fence  corresponded  to  certain  neat  look- 
ing improvements  on  the  hennery.  The  house  was 
stocked  rather  slowly,  for  it  was  part  of  the  contract 
which  Mrs.  Bilderback  had  drawn  that  the  party  of  the 
second  part  should  purchase  his  own  stock.  It  was 
noticeable  that  Master  Bilderback's  taste  ran  greatly 
toward  gamey  looking  roosters,  and  as  the  perches  in 
the  hennery  became  more  and  more  populated,  the  out- 
look for  fresh  eggs  and  spring  chickens  became  very  dis- 
couraging indeed.  The  first  fowl  the  poulterer  brought 
home  was  a  gaunt  Hamburg  with  one  eye  and  a  game 
leg,  but  beautifully  spangled,  which  interesting  bird,  Mas- 
ter Bilderback  informed  his  sister,  was  the  worst  pill  in 
the  box  and  had  lost  his  eye  while  fighting  a  cow.  The 
next  day  he  traded  a  pocketful  of  marbles  for  a  little 
bantam  that  crowed  twenty- four  hours  a  day,  could  slip 
through  a  season  crack  in  a  warped  board,  and  could  dig 
a  hole  in  the  middle  of  a  flower  bed  that  you  could  bury 
a  calf  in.  There  wasn't  a  moment's  silence  about  the 
house  after  the  bantam's  arrival,  for  when  he  was  not 
fighting  the  Hamburg,  which  was  only  when  that  valiant 
but  prudent  bird  got  up  on  top  of  the  house  and  hid 
behind  a  chimney,  he  was  wandering  through  the  house 
trying  his  voice  in  the  different  rooms,  or  standing  on  the 
front  porch  issuing  proclamations  of  defiance  to  all  roos- 
ters to  whom  these  presents  might  come,  greeting.  A 
day  or  two  after  the  bantam's  arrival  Master  Bilderback 
traded  his  knife  for  a  Black  Spanish  rooster  with  a  broken 
wing.  The  Spaniard  when  put  in  the  coop  proceeded  at 
once  to  clean  out  the  disheartened  Hamburg,  who  fought 


26o  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

on  the  tactics  which  had  so  often  proved  of  so  great 
value  to  him,  and  amazed  his  furious  antagonist  by  the 
briskness  with  which  he  got  out  of  the  coop,  up  on  to  the 
barn,  and  perched  himself  on  the  restless  and  uncertain 
weather-cock.  The  Spaniard  and  the  bantam  then  had 
it  until  neither  of  them  could  stand,  when  the  pacific 
Hamburg  improved  the  opportunity  to  come  down  and 
partake  of  the  first  square  meal  he  had  eaten  since  the 
new  boarders  had  come  to  the  house.  Two  days  later, 
Master  Bilderback  brought  home  a  vile  looking  white 
rooster  with  no  tail  feathers,  his  comb  shaved  off  close 
to  the  head,  and  spurs  as  long  as  your  thumb,  a  vile  ple- 
beian of  a  rooster  without  a  line  of  pedigree,  of  no  partic- 
ular strain,  except  a  strain  that  made  his  very  eyes  turn 
red  when  he  growled,  which  he  had  bought  for  an 
old  base  ball  club.  But  the  nameless  stranger  amazed 
the  proprietor  of  the  hennery  by  waltzing  into  the  estab- 
lishment with  a  terrific  rooster  oath,  and  following  it  up 
by  kicking  the  bantam  clear  out  of  his,  mind,  jerking  the 
wattles  off  the  Spaniard,  and  chasing  the  persecuted 
Hamburg  half  way  up  the  side  of  the  house.  This  was 
the  last  addition  made  to  the  happy  family  for  some  time, 
Mr.  Bilderback  declaring  that  he  was  not  going  to  have 
his  premises  turned  into  a  cock- pit,  and  Master  Bilder- 
back was  sternly  forbidden  to  arrange  any  more  meetings 
in  the  alley,  with  other  boys  and  their  birds.  But  a  few 
days  afterward,  when  Master  Bilderback  came  home  from 
school,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  made  a  trade.  He 
had  some  other  boy's  shabby  old  hat  on  his  head,  and 
there  wasn't  a  lead  pencil,  piece  of  string,  pistol  cartridge, 
top,  fish-hook,  chalk  line,  marble,  dime  novel,  or  street 
car  ticket  in  his  pockets,  and  he  had  a  new  rooster,  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  vast  collection  of  fowls  that  were 
to  furnish  forth  his   mother's  table  with  fresh  eggs  and 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  26  I 

spring  chickens.  It  was  a  Shanghai ;  young  one,  Master 
Bilderback  said,  as  he  prepared  to  untie  its  legs  and 
wings  and  introduce  it  to  its  new  home ;  hadn't  got  his 
growth  yet,  but  he  was  "a  buster."  And  Mrs.  Bilder- 
back thought  he  was.  When  he  was  untied  he  stood  up 
and  flapped  one  of  his  wings  in  his  proprietor's  face, 
until  that  young  gentleman  was  ready  to  "cross  his 
heart,"  that  somebody  had  hit  him  with  a  clapboard. 
And  before  he  had  recovered  from  the  effects  of  this 
blow  the  noble  bird  kicked  him  under  the  chin  and  darted 
off  toward  the  front  yard,  with  prodigious  strides.  He 
uttered  a  most  awful  croak  as  he  neared  Mrs.  Bilder- 
back, who  was  trying  to  get  out  of  his  way,  and  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  fly  over  her,  he  struck  her  on  the  head,  just 
abaft  her  ear  with  his  heel,  gently  dropping  her ;  "  grassed 
the  old  lady,"  Master  Bilderback  afterward  explained  to 
his  sister,  "like  a  shot."  The  wretched* bird  paused  as 
he  passed  the  sitting-room  window,  which  was  just  about 
on  a  level  with  his  head  when  he  stooped,  to  look  in  and 
make  some  unintelligible  remark  in  a  guttural  tone  of 
language,  and  snatching  up  a  new  tidy  that  Miss  Bilder- 
back was  at  work  upon,  swallowed  it  and  passed  on. 
Wherever  he  trod,  he  smashed  a  house  plant,  and  when- 
ever he  croaked,  he  threw  soniebody  into  a  fit.  He  met 
Mr.  Bilderback  as  he  suddenly  turned  the  corner  of  the 
house,  ran  against  the  old  gentleman  with  a  wild  kind  of 
a  crow  thit  sounded  like  a  steamboat  whistle  with  a  bad 
cold,  and  as  he  trampled  over  that  good  man's  prostrate 
form,  he  plucked  off  his  neck  -  tie  and  swallowed  it. 
Then  the  "buster"  wheeled  around  and  straddled  into 
the  sitting-room  window,  and  before  they  could  head 
him  out  of  the  house  he  swallowed  two  spools  of  cotton, 
a  tack  hammer,  a  set  of  false  teeth  belonging  to  Mrs. 
Bilderback,  a  cake  of  toilet  soap,  a  shoe  buttoner,  a  ball 


262  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

of  yarn,  an  arctic  overshoe,  and  finally  choked  on  a  pho- 
tograph album  which  flew  open  when  it  was  about  half 
way  down.  The  bird  when  last  heard  from  was  still  at 
large  roaming  around  South  Hill,  but  Master  Bilderback's 
hennery  is  empty  and  lonesome,  because  his  parents  are, 
from  some  unaccountable  reason,  bitterly  piejudiced 
against  keeping  chickens. 


A   SUNDAY   IDYL. 


YOU  see,  the  tenor  had  got  kind  of  abstracted,  or 
restless,  or  something  during  the  long  prayer,  and 
was  thinking  about  the  European  war,  or  the  wheat 
corner  last  week,  or  something,  and  so  when  the  minister 
gave  out  hymn  231,  on  page  67,  and  the  chorister  whis- 
pered them  to  sing  the  music  on  page  117,  it  all  came  in 
on  the  tenor  like  a  volley,  and  as  he  had  only  the  play- 
ing of  the  symphony  in  which  to  make  the  necessary 
combination  of  time,  hymn  and  page,  he  came  to  the 
front  just  a  little  bit  disorganized,  and  his  fingers  stick- 
ing between  every  leaf  in  the  book.  And  the  choir 
hadn't  faced  the  footlights  half  a  minute  before  the  con- 
gregation more  than  half  suspected  something  was  wrong. 
For  you  see,  the  soprano,  in  attempting  to  answer  the 
frenzied  whisper  of  the  tenor  in  regard  to  the  page,  lost 
the  first  two  or  three  words  of  the  opening  line  herself, 
and  that  left  the  alto  to  start  off  alone,  for  the  basso  was 
so  profoundly  engaged  in  watching  the  tenor  and  wonder- 
ing what  ailed  him,  that  he  forgot  to  sing.  The  music 
wasn't  written   for  an  alto  solo,  and  consequently  there 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  263 

wasn't  very  much  variety  to  that  part,  and  after  singing 
nearly  through  the  first  line  alone,  and  receiving  neither 
applause  nor  bouquets  for  one  of  the  finest  contralto 
efforts  a  Burlington.or  any  other  audience  ever  listened 
to,  the  alto  stopped  and  looked  reproachfully  at  the 
soprano,  who  had  just  plunged  the  tenor's  soul  into  a 
gulf  of  dark  despair  by  leaving  him  to  find  his  way  out 
of  the  labyrinth  of  tunes  and  pages  and  hymns  into 
which  his  own  heedlessness  had  led  him,  by  giving  him 
a  frantic  shake  of  her  head,  which  unsettled  the  new 
spring  bonnet  (just  the  sweetest  duck  of  a  Normandy), 
to  that  extent  that  every  woman  in  the  congregation 
noticed  it.  All  this  time  the  organist  was  doing  nobly, 
and  the  alto,  recovering  her  spirits,  sang  another  bar, 
which,  for  sweetness  and  tenacious  adherence  to  the 
same  note,  all  the  way  through,  couldn't  be  beat  in 
America.  By  this  time  the  bass  had  risen  to  the  emer- 
gency and  sang  two  deep  guttural  notes,  with  profound 
expression,  but  as  those  of  the  congregation  sitting  near- 
est the  choir  could  distinctly  hear  him  sing  "Ho,  ho!"  to 
the  proper  music,  it  was  painfully  evident  that  the  basso 
had  the  correct  tune,  but  was  running  wild  on  the  words. 
At  this  point  the  soprano  got  her  time  and  started  off 
with  a  couple  of  confident  notea,  high  and  clear  as  a 
bird  song,  and  the  congregation,  inspired  with  an  over- 
ready  confidence,  broke  out  on  the  last  word  of  the 
verse  with  a  discordant  roar  that  rattled  the  globes  on 
the  big  chandelier,  and  as  the  verse  closed  with  this 
triumphant  outbreak,  an  expression  of  calm,  restful  sat- 
isfaction was  observed  to  steal  over  the  top  of  the  pas- 
tor's head,  which  was  all  that  could  be  seen  of  him,  a-s 
he  bowed  himself  behind  the  pulpit. 

The  organist  played  an  intricate  and  beautiful  inter- 
lude without  a  tremor  or  a  false  note ;  not  an  uncertain 


264  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

touch  to  indicate  that  there  was  a  particle  of  excitement 
in  the  choir,  or  that  anything  had  gone  wrong. 

The  choir  didn't  exactly  appear  to  catch  the  organist's 
reassuring  steadiness,  for  the  basso  led  off  the  second 
verse  by  himself,  and  his  deep-toned  "  Ho,  ho!  "  was  so 
perceptible  throughout  the  sanctuary  that  several  people 
started,  and  looked  down  under  the  seats  for  a  man,  and 
one  irreverent  sinner,  near  the  door,  thrust  a  felt  hat 
into  his  mouth  and  slid  out.  The  soprano  got  orders 
and  started  out  only  three  or  four  words  behind  time, 
but  she  hadn't  reached  the  first  siding  before  she  col- 
lided with  a  woman  in  the  audience,  running  wild  and 
trying  to  carry  a  new  tune  to  the  old  words.  And  then, 
to  make  it  worse,  the  soprano  handed  her  book  to  the 
tenor,  and  pointed  him  to  the  tune  on  page  117  and  the 
words  on  page  67,  and  if  that  unhappy  man  didn't  get 
his  orders  mixed,  and  struck  out  on  schedule  time,  with 
the  tune  on  page  67  and  the  words  on  page  117,  and  in 
less  than  ten  words  ditched  himself  so  badly  that  he  was 
laid  out  for  the  rest  of  the  verse,  and  then  he  lost  his 
place,  handed  the  book  back  to  the  soprano,  took  the  one 
she  had,  and  held  it  upside  down,  and  no  living  man 
could  tell  from  his  face  what  he  was  thinking  of  or  try- 
ing to  say.  Meanwhile  the  soprano,  when  the  books 
were  so  abruptly  changed  on  her,  did  just  what  might 
have  been  expected,  and  telescoped  two  tunes  and  sets 
of  words  into  each  other  with  disastrous  effect.  The 
alto  was  running  smoothly  along,  passenger  time,  for  the 
several  wrecks  gave  her  the  track,  so  far  as  it  was  clear, 
all  to  herself.  The  basso,  who  had  slipped  an  eccentric 
and  was  only  working  one  side,  was  rumbling  cautiously 
along,  clear  ofT  his  own  time,  flagging  himself  every  mile 
of  the  way,  and  asking  for  orders  every  time  he  got  a 
chance.      The   pastor's   head  was  observed   to   tremble 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  265 

with  emotion,  and  the  people  sitting  nearest  the  pulpit 
say  they  could  indistinctly  hear  sounds  from  behind  it 
that  resembled  the  syllables  *'  Te,  he !  "  As  the  organist 
pulled  and  crowded  and  encouraged  them  along  toward 
the  closing  line,  it  looked  as  though  public  confidence 
might  soon  be  restored  and  the  panic  abated,  but  alas, 
as  even  the  demoralized  tenor  rallied,  and  came  in  with 
the  full  quartette  on  the  last  line,  a  misguided  man  in 
the  audience  suddenly  thought  he  recognized  in  the  dis- 
tracted tune  an  old,  familiar  acquaintance,  and  broke 
out  in  a  joyous  howl  on  something  entirely  different  that 
inspired  every  singing  man  and  woman  in  the  congrega- 
tion with  the  same  idea,  and  the  hymn  was  finished  in  a 
terrific  discord  of  sixty-nine  different  tunes,  and  the  rent 
and  mangled  melody  flapped  and  fluttered  around  the 
sacred  edifice  like  a  new  kind  of  delirium  tremens,  and 
all  the  wrecking  cars  on  the  line  were  started  for  the 
scene  at  once. 

The  pastor  deserves  more  praise  than  can  be  crowded 
into  these  pages  for  pronouncing  the  benediction  in 
clear,  even  tones,  without  even  the  ghost  of  a  smile  on 
his  placid  countenance. 


266  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


RUPERTINO'S  PANORAMA. 


OUR  first  view  is  leaving  New  York  harbor.  This  is 
a  beautiful  picture.  See  the  mighty  vessel, 
spreading  her  snowy  wings  to  the  gale,  glide  through  the 
water  like  a  thing  of  life.  There  is  nothing  to  hinder 
her,  and  nothing  in  tliat  fact  to  make  a  fuss  about.  But 
if  the  water  was  to  glide  through  her,  it  would  be  time 
for  reflection  on  the  brevity  of  one's  life  insurance  policy. 
The  noble  ship  is  freighted  with  precious  human  souls, 
bright  hopes,  happy  anticipations,  hides,  salt  meat  and 
highwines. 

This  is  a  view  of  the  Bourse  in  Paris,  a  twin  institution 
to  the  Burlington  Board  of  Trade.  The  man  in  the 
background,  trying  to  hang  himself  on  a  lamp-post,  is  a 
member  of  the  Bourse.  He  has  just  been  Boursted.  He 
has  been  operating  in  corn.  If  you  will  hold  a  bottle  or 
small  tumbler  to  your  mouth  and  look  steadily  at  this 
picture,  you  will  see  how  they  usually  operate  in  corn  at 
the  Exchanges. 

This  is  a  view  in  Egypt.  The  great  city  of  Cairo.  It 
is  named  after  Cairo,  Illinois.  Cairo  is  on  the  river 
Nile.  Cairo  never  struck  ile  that  we  know  of,  but  we  do 
know  that  Cairo  seen  Nile.  We  do  not  know,  history 
does  not  tell  us,  what  there  was  so  important  in  this 
event,  but  we  know  it  is  commemorated  by  monuments 
erected  all  over  America.  You  can't  go  into  a  cemetery 
in  the  United  States  without  seeing  one  or  more  monu- 
ments erected  to  the  memory  of  Cairo  C.  Nile.  He  was 
probably  the  inventor  of  a  cooking-stove,  as  some  refer- 
ence is  usually  made  to  the  kitchen  fire. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS  267 

This  is  a  view  of  the  Seine.  This  is  the  favorite  place 
for  the  Parisians  to  shuffle  off  their  mortal  coil.  The 
volatile  Frenchman  gets  himself  full  of  elan  (you  know 
what  that  is)  and  jumps  ofif  one  of  these  arched  bridges, 
the  Pont  Noof  or  the  Pont  de  Jena,  down  by  the  Shong 
de  Mar.  The  zhong  darmay,  which  is  French  for  river 
police,  fishes  the  victim  out ;  the  coroner  pronounces 
him  incurably  inseine,  his  property  is  confiscated,  and 
his  insurance  policy  declared  void,  so  as  to  spoil  his  wife's 
chances  of  marrying  again.  Such  is  the  grasp  of  an  iron 
desix)tism  upon  the  wretched  slaves  of  down-trodden 
Europe.     (Applause.) 

Here  is  a  view  in  London  of  the  old  Bucking'em  pal- 
ace. This  is  an  exterior  view.  Inside  there  are  several 
keno  banks,  some  chuckaluck  tables  and  a  faro  bank, 
and  the  nobility  are  in  there  bucking  the  tiger.  King 
Richard  came  out  of  that  palace  once,  cleaned  out,  after 
a  run  of  bad  luck.  He  remarked  to  a  friend,  "  So  much 
for  bucking  em."     The  quotation  has  passed  into  history. 

A  panoramic  view  of  Scotland.  The  gentleman  in  the 
peculiar  position  in  the  foreground  is  scratching  his  back 
against  a  mile  post  and  remarking,  "  God  bless  the  gude 
Duke  of  Argyle."  The  children  in  Scotland  are  taught 
that  the  Duke  of  Argyle  made  the  world.  This  is  an 
error. 

We  stand  among  the  antiquities  of  Rome — Rome  that 
stood  on  her  seven  hills,  like  James  Robinson  in  his 
famous  eight-horse  bareback  act.  This  is  Trajan's  Col- 
umn— his  spinal  column.  This  is  the  Arch  of  Titus. 
When  he  put  up  that  arch  he  was  Titus  a  brick.  This  is 
the  place  where  the  Roman  mobs  used  to  collect  and  the 
police  went  Forum.  Here  is  the  Coliseum.  There  is 
the  bloody  sand  of  the  arena;  there  is  the  spot  where 
"  the  dying  gladiator"  lied.     "  I  see  before  me  the  dying 


268  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE 

gladiator  lie."  Some  calm  and  temperate  Roman  ought 
to  have  cast  the  scoundrel's  lies  in  his  teeth.  The  Ro- 
mans were  very  depraved,  wicked  people,  and  the  entire 
civilized  world  yet  suffers  from  the  effects  of  their  mali- 
cious iniquity.  They  invented  the  Latin  grammar, 
Nepos,  Cicero  and  Virgil,  and  hurled  upon  the  boys  of 
succeeding  ages  a  language  containing  ten  rules  to  every 
word,  and  twenty  exceptions  to  every  rule.  This  is  a 
statue  of  a  noble  Roman,  Julius  Caesar.  He  was  named 
after  the  Fourth  of  July  and  President  Grant. 

We  stand  in  Greece.  '•  'I'he  isles  of  Greece !  The 
isles  of  Greece !  "  Probably  the  poet  referred  to  goose 
grease.  The  Greeks  were  an  ancient  people.  They 
wrote  their  letters  in  cipher,  and  schoolboys  of  to-day 
sigh  for  hours  over  their  letters.  Here  are  the  ruins  of 
the  temple  of  Jupiter  O'Lympus,  erected  to  him  by  the 
ancient  Greeks,  thus  proving  that  the  Irish  nation  sprang 
from  these  ancient  heroes.  Here  is  an  ancient  theater. 
It  is  closed  now  for  repairs  ;  has  been  closed  for  a  few 
thousand  years,  and  the  actors  have  gone  off  lo  their 
Summer  resort,  at  Hades  on  the  Styx. 

Behold  buried  Pompeii.  The  city  was  entombed  in 
an  eruption  that  hadn't  been  equaled  sine-  Job  got  woU. 
The  gentleman  in  a  military  position  at  the  gate,  dressed 
in  a  full  suit  of  bones,  is  not  only  a  charming  specimen 
of  anatomy,  but  was  a  brave  sentinel,  who  was  covered 
up  with  ashes  before  he  could  run.  He  would  have  been. 
1,795  years  old  Ij-morrow  if  he  had  run  and  kept  on 
living.  It  appears,  however,  that  he  is  dead.  The  fact 
is  not  substantiated  by  any  direct  evidence,  as  no  wit- 
nesses can  be  found  who  saw  him  die,  and  his  will, 
therefore,  has  not  been  probated.  But  it  is  generally 
believed  that  he  is  dead.     Weep  not  for  him,  friends. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  269 

He  was  a  heathen,  and  has  gone  to  a  place  where  he  is 
probably  used  to  volcanoes  by  this  time. 

This  building,  the  venerable  pile  that  rises  before  you, 
is  27,000  years  old.  It  originally  cost  $850,  and  took  ten 
men  nearly  all  Summer  to  build  it.  It  was  whitewashed 
nearly  4,000  years  ago,  but  received  no  later  repairs. 
The  room  on  the  right  as  you  enter  the  hall  on  the  first 
floor,  is  the  Torture  Room.  It  is  called  the  County 
Treasurer's  office,  and  is  where  people  go  and  mortgage 
their  farms  and  homes  for  taxes.  The  room  opposite  is 
the  County  Insane  Asylum.  The  juries  are  confined 
there  while  on  duty,  and  the  local  debating  societies  also 
meet  there.  This  court-house  was  built  many  ages  before 
Burlington  was  settled.  The  massive  walls  are  engraved 
with  the  names  of  eminent  men  who  have  served  on  the 
juries.  A  grim  and  imposing  antiquity  frowns  upon  us 
as  we  enter  the  Judgment  Hall  up  stairs.  The  benches 
and  desks  are  made  of  wood  taken  from  the  decks  of  the 
ark.  The  tobacco  quids  in  the  corners  were  piled  there 
so  long  ago  that  people  had  not  begun  to  remember  any- 
thing. The  wood-box  is  a  pre-Adamic  creation.  It  is 
n^pdeled  after  the  megatherium.  The  only  man  living 
who  knows  any  thing  about  the  early  history  of  the  couit- 
house  is  dead. 


19 


270  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MIDDLERIB'S   DOG. 


MR.  MIDDLERIB  used  to  be  a  devoted  dog  fancier. 
About  three  years  ago  he  owned  a  beautiful  hound 
pup  about  five  months  old.  It  was  considered  an  orna- 
ment to  the  neighborhood.  A  hound  pup  at  that  age  is 
an  object  of  surprising  beauty,  under  any  circumstances; 
but  when  you  consider  that  Mr.  Middlerib  had  raised  his 
pup  on  scientific  principles  (boiled  beef  and  rice),  you 
can  readily  imagine  what  a  canine  divinity  it  was.  Gaunt 
legs,  longer  than  your  grandfather's  stories,  and  the  hind 
ones  so  crooked  that  the  dog  sticks  his  foot  into  every- 
thing in  the  yard  every  time  he  tries  to  scratch  his  ear; 
sides  look  as  though  he  had  swallowed  an  old  hoopskirt, 
and  the  springs  showed  through  ;  more  ribs  under  his 
hide  than  there  are  spots  on  it ;  tail  as  long  as  the  dog, 
and  two  inches  across  the  big  end  and  tapering  down 
like  a  marlinspike,  so  lean  you  can  count  every  joint  in 
it,  and  so  hard  that  you  couldn't  scratch  it  with  a  dia- 
mond— has  every  appearance  of  having  been  made  ten 
years  before  the  dog  was,  and  then  hung  out  to  bleach  in 
the  rain  and  dry  in  the  sun  until  the  dog  came  along ; 
ears  soft  as  a  kid  glove,  and  about  the  size  and  appear- 
ance of  a  blacksmith's  apron — bear  every  evidence  of 
being  considered  by  all  other  dogs  in  the  precinct  as 
dreadful  nice  things  to  chew.  Beautiful  eyes;  open 
twenty -three  hours  and  fifty  -  nine  minutes  of  the  day; 
scare  every  woman  into  fits  that  looks  into  the  back  yard 
after  dark.  Sweet  mouth,  opens  on  a  hinge  at  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  is  never  shut  unless  there  is  something 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  27  I 

in  it.  That's  the  best  picture  of  a  growing  hound,  one 
of  this  kind  with  liver  colored  spots,  that  we  can  .draw, 
and  Mr.  Middlerib's  was  just  like  that,  only  more  so. 
His  principal  characteristic  was  a  tendency  to  lunch. 
He  was  fond  of  nibbling  little  things  around  the  house. 
Split  his  face  one  Sunday  while  the  folks  were  at  church, 
and  shut  it  down  over  a  whole  ham.  Liked  to  peck  at 
odd  bones  and  scraps,  and  one  Monday  morning  he  ate 
two  tablecloths,  a  flannel  shirt,  a  big  roller  towel,  half  a 
dozen  clothes  pins  and  thirteen  linear  yards  of  clothes 
line,  before  the  washing  had  been  hung  out  half  an  hour. 
Fond  of  eggs,  too,  and  knows  every  hen  by  sight  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  sets  off  on  a  friendly  call  every  time 
he  hears  a  cackle.  Mrs.  M.  wants  to  sell  him,  but 
Middlerib  says  gold  couldn't  buy  him.  So  he  stays,  and 
eggs  are  as  scarce  in  that  ward  as  ever. 

Well,  one  night,  Mrs.  M.  had  made  something  by 
pulverizing  a  lot  of  very  hot  potatoes.  We  believe  it  was 
yeast.  Any  how,  it  was  necessary  that  it  should  cool 
very  presently,  and  after  some  misgivings  relative  to  the 
dog  and  his  weakness,  which  were  dispelled  by  Middle- 
rib's  indignant  defense  of  that  sagacious  animal,  the  dish 
containing  the  fiery  compound  was  placed  on  the  outer 
edge  of  a  window  sill,  to  cool  in  the  night  air. 

Then  the  family  resumed  their  occupation  of  hearing 
Middlerib  explain  the  causes  that  led  to  the  recent 
revolution  in  politics. 

Such  a  weird,  unearthly,  piercing  wail  hadn't  been 
heard  since  Dresseldorf  learned  to  play  the  clarionet. 
It  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  ground,  out  of  the  sky,  out 
of  the  air  around  them,  and  for  an  instant  the  frightened 
Middleribs  gazed  at  each  other  with  white,  terror-blanched 
faces.  Then  they  rushed  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  A 
gaunt,  ghostly  form,  with  liver  colored  spots  and  a  mouth 


272  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

full  of  red  hot  potato  yeast  thrashed  wildly  up  and  down 
the  yard,  splitting  the  darkness  with  terrific  yells  at  every 
jump.  It  was  Middlerib's  dog,  and  it  was  apparently 
feeling  uneasy.  It  dashed  madly  around  in  short  circles 
and  screamed  "  Police,"  and  scraped  its  jaws  with  its 
paws,  and  wept  and  rubbed  its  chops  along  the  cold 
ground,  and  swore  and  howled  for  water,  and  pawed  the 
earth  and  sang  psalms,  and  in  several  ways  expressed 
its  disapprobation  of  potato  yeast  as  a  diet.  Finally,  the 
dog  wedged  himself  in  between  the  fence  and  the  ash- 
barrel,  and  told  all  about  it,  how  it  happened  and  what 
it  felt  like,  and  how  he  liked  it  as  far  as  he'd  got.  He 
never  slept  a  wink  that  night.  He  was  too  anxious  to 
get  his  narrative  completed  and  see  the  proofs  of  it. 
Neither  did  anybody  in  the  neighborhood  sleep,  either. 
And  every  time  a  water  pitcher  would  crash  down  into 
the  yard,  or  a  boot -jack  bang  against  the  fence  or  an 
andiron  plunge  madly  into  the  ash -barrel,  the  dog  would 
laugh  in  mocking  tones,  and  go  on  with  his  testimony. 
About  midnight  a  vigilance  committee  waited  on  Mr. 
Middlerib,  but  he  wouldn't  come  out,  and  they  couldn't 
stand  the  noise  long  enough  to  break  in  the  door.  The 
dog  finished  his  statement  about  sunrise,  when  the  com- 
mittee rose.  The  family  ate  baker's  bread  the  next  day, 
and  Middlerib  so  far  yielded  to  Mrs.  M.'s  entreaties  as 
to  say  that  if  any  man  will  make  a  fair  offer,  he  might  sell 
an  undivided  third  of  the  dog. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  273 


A  BOY'S  DAY  AT  HOME. 


MASTER  BILDERBACK  had  been  home  all  day, 
confined  to  the  house  and  barn  by  the  rain,  and 
excited  by  the  prospect  of  unlimited  fun  during  the  long 
vacation.  He  was  a  blessing  to  his  mother  and  sister, 
and  his  affectionate  parent  caught  her  death  of  cold  by 
running  around  after  him  in  one  stocking  foot,  searching 
out  the  tender  places  in  his  nature  and  anatomy  with  a 
four  and  a  half  slipper.  He  tied  one  end  of  his  sister's 
ball  of  crochet  cotton  to  the  fly  -  wheel  of  the  sewing- 
machine  and  the  other  around  the  tail  of  the  cat,  and  by 
the  time  his  mother  had  sewed  half  way  down  one  of  the 
long  seams  in  Mr.  Bilderback's  new  shirt,  all  but  a  few 
yards  of  that  cotton  was  a  chaotic  mass  about  that  fly- 
wheel and  shaft,  and  the  cat  was  waltzing  in  and  out  of 
the  kitchen,  sprawling  along  backward,  tail  straight  as  a 
poker,  fur  up  and  eyes  aflame,  snowling,  and  spitting,  and 
swearing  like  mad,  and  Mrs.  Bilderback  and  her  daughter 
climbed  upon  the  table  and  shrieked  till  the  windows 
rattled,  while  Master  Bilderback,  hid  behind  the  clothes- 
horse  in  the  kitchen,  lay  down  on  his  back  and  laughed  a 
wicked  gurgling  kind  of  a  laugh.  Then  he  went  out  and 
jammed  a  potato  into  the  nose  of  the  chain  pump  and  the 
hired  girl  went  out  and  pumped  till  her  arms  ached  clear 
down  to  her  heels,  and  then  told  Mrs.  Bilderback  the 
cistern  had  sprung  a  leak  and  was  dry  as  a  bone.  And 
then  Mrs.  Bilderback,  declaring  she  knew  better,  went 
out  and  turned  the  wheel  .till  her  head  swam  and  she 
gave  up,  and  Miss  Bilderback  went  out  and  turned  till 


274  ^ISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

she  cried,  and  then  Master  Bilderback,  rather  than  go  to 
the  neighbor's  for  water,  went  out  and  fixed  ihe  pump  and 
came  in  to  be  praised,  and  was  duly  praised  with  the 
slipper,  for  he  had  been  watched.  He  put  an  old  last 
year's  fire  -  cracker  in  the  kitchen  stove ;  he  insured  a 
steady  run  of  strange  visitors  for  about  two  hours,  to  the 
great  amazement  of  his  mother  and  sister,  by  pinning  a 
placard  on  the  porch  step,  plainly  seen  from  the  street, 
but  invisible  from  the  front  door,  "  Man  wanted  to  drive 
carriage;  $35.00  a  month  and  board."  Mrs.  Bilderback 
drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she  heard  Mr.  B.'s  step  in  the 
hall,  and  informed  her  son  that  as  soon  as  his  father 
came  in  he  should  be  duly  informed  of  all  that  had  been 
going  on.  A  most  impressive  silence  followed  this 
remark,  and  the  trio  in  the  sitting  -  room  listened  to 
Mr.  Bilderback 's  heavy  breathing  as  he  divested  himself 
of  his  wet  boots,  and  prepared  to  assume  his  slippers. 
Master  Bilderback's  face  wore  an  expression  of  the  deep- 
est concern. 

Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  shout  of  aston- 
ishment and  terror,  followed  by  a  howl  of  intense  agony, 
and  there  was  a  clattering  as  of  a  runaway  crockery 
wagon  in  the  hall.  The  affrighted  family  rushed  to  the 
door,  and  beheld  Mr.  Bilderback  cleaving  the  shadows 
with  wild  gestures  and  frantic  gyrations.  "  Take  it  off,'' 
he  shouted,  and  made  a  grab  at  his  own  foot,  but,  miss- 
ing it,  went  on  with  his  war  -  dance.  "  Water  !  "  he 
shrieked,  and  started  up  stairs,  three  at  a  step,  and  turn- 
ing, came  back  in  a  single  stride,  "  Oh,  I'm  stabbed!" 
he  cried,  and  sank  to  the  floor  and  held  his  right  leg  high 
above  his  head  ;  then  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  bound 
and  screamed  for  the  boot -jack,  and  held  his  foot  out 
toward  his  terrified  family.  "  Oh,  bring  me  the  arnica  !  " 
he  yelled,  and  with  one  despairing  effort  he  reached  his 


A  BOY'S  DAY  AT  HOME. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS. 


■75 


slipper  and  got  it  off,  and  with  a  groan  as  deep  as  a  well 
and  hollow  as  a  drum,  sank  into  a  chair  and  clasped  his 
foot  in  both  hands.  "  Look  out  for  the  scorpion,"  he 
whispered  hoarsely,  "  I'm  a  dead  man." 

Master  Bilderback  was  by  this  time  out  in  the  wood- 
shed, rolling  in  the  kindling  in  an  ecstasy  of  glee,  and 
pausing  from  time  to  time  to  explain  to  the  son  of  a 
neighbor,  who  had  dropped  in  to  see  if  there  was  any 
innocent  sport  going  on  in  which  he  could  share,  '*  Oh, 
Bill,  Bill,"  he  said,  "  you  wouldn't  believe;  some  time 
to  -  day,  some  how  or  other,  a  big  blue  wasp  got  into  the 
old  man's  slipper,  and  when  he  come  home  and  put  it  on 
— oh,  Bill,  you  don't  know!  " 


WHY    MR.   BOSTWICK   MOVED. 


YOUNG  Mr.  Bostwick  has  moved.  He  liked  the 
house  he  has  been  living  in  well  enough,  and  Mrs. 
Bostwick  fairly  cried  her  eyes  out  when  they  left  it,  be- 
cause it  had  a  bay  window  and  blinds  with  slats  that  you 
could  turn  so  that  you  could  see  anybody  in  the  street 
and  nobody  could  see  you.  But  old  Mr.  Glasford,  the 
landlord,  was  very  deaf,  and  it  was  on  account  of  this 
infirmity  that  his  tenant  left  the  house.  Mrs.  Bostwick 
said  she  couldn't  see  what  Mr.  Glasford's  deafness  had 
to  do  with  the  house,  but  her  husband  only  looked  wor- 
ried and  said  it  made  a  good  deal  of  difference  with  a 
man's  peace  of  mind,  when  he  had  something  he  wanted 
to  whisper,  and  had  to  whisper  it  to  a  man  who  couldn't 
hear  anything  if  he  went   into    a  boiler  factory.     Mrs. 


276  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Bostwick  didn't  understand  what  difference  it  made  any- 
how, but  then  she  wasn't  down  town  that  terrible 
Wednesday,  when  old  Mr.  Glasford  went  into  the  store 
where  her  husband  was  selling  a  lovely  young  divinity 
from  Denmark  a  dress  pattern  off  a  piece  of  Centennial 
percale.  Mr.  Bostwick  saw  the  old  gentleman  coming 
and  felt  very  nervous.  Eager  to  anticipate  the  demand 
which  he  knew  the  old  man  was  going  to  make,  he 
dashed  toward  him  with  an  abruptness  that  astonished 
the  fair  customer  who  had  just  lost  herself  in  admiration 
of  Bostwick's  diamond  pin,  and  the  fact,  just  confidentially 
imparted  to  her,  that  he  was  not  a  clerk  but  the  silent 
partner,  holding  about  $475,000  worth  of  stock  in  the 
concern,  and  that  he  just  worked  from  pure  love  of  em- 
ployment. Mr.  Bostwick  checked  the  old  gentleman 
about  ten  feet  away  from  his  customer,  and  leaning  over 
the  counter  so  as  to  get  as  close  range  on  his  ear  as  pos- 
sible, whispered  hoarsely  that  "it  wouldn't  be  convenient 
to  pay  that  rent  to-day." 

"  Hey  .'^ "  shouted  the  old  man,  looking  at  Bostwick's 
agitated  face  in  some  alarm,  "why,  why,  wha's  the  mat- 
ter?    'S  happened  .'^ " 

Mr.  Bostwick  made  a  futile  effort  to  catch  hold  of  the 
old  man's  ear,  intending  to  pour  his  explanation  into  it 
as  one  pours  water  into  a  funnel,  but  his  landlord  briskly 
dodged  and  waved  Bostwick  away  with  an  expression  of 
considerable  apprehension.  Mr.  Bostwick  groaned  and 
endeavored  to  explain  to  the  old"  gentleman  in  a  manner 
that  would  convey  to  the  pretty  customer  and  the  others 
in  the  store  the  idea  that  he  was  refusing  to  give  the  old 
party  credit,  and  at  the  same  time  let  old  Glasford  know 
that  he  was  bankrupt. 

*'  Can't  do  it !  "  he  shouted. 

"Can't  do  what?  "  inquired  the  mystified  old  gentle- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS,  277 

man  in  those  stentorian  tones  so  popular  with  deaf 
people. 

"  Can't  help  you !  '*  shouted  Bostwick,  in  tones  the 
sternness  of  which  contrasted  ludicrously  with  the 
sheepish  expression  of  his  countenance.  "Can't  do 
anything  for  you! " 

The  old  man  looked  at  Bostwick  in  helpless  wonder 
and  then  at  the  door,  with  his  mind  half  made  up  to  run 
away,  under  the  impression  that  the  young  man  was 
crazy.  He  finally  stared  at  him  in  open-mouthed  amaze- 
ment and  speechless  bewilderment. 

"Oh,  Moses,"  thought  Bostwick,  "  he's  mad  as  a 
hornet,  he'll  break  out  in  a  minute;  I  know  he  will." 
Then  he  tried  him  again,  in  a  voice  like  a  steam  whistle. 

"  I  can't  do  anything  for  you  !  " 

The  old  man's  mouth  opened  siill  wider,  and  his  eyes 
stood  around  on  his  cheek  bones  in  their  amazement. 

"  Who  asked  ye  to  do  anything  for  me  ?  "  he  finally 
gasped.     "  What  is  it  ye  can't  do.^" 

Bostwick  groaned,  and  in  a  fit  of  desperation  he  broke 
down,  and  gave  it  up. 

"I  can't  pay  that  rent  to-day!  "  he  shrieked,  and  the 
pretty  customer  was  so  shocked  that  she  dropped  her 
parasol,  fan  and  paper  of  gum  drops. 

"What  went  to-day?"  asked  the  old  man,  waving 
Bostwick  off  with  his  stick. 

Here  the  proprietor  officiously  interposed  to  cover 
Bostwick's  confusion,  speaking  in  the  highest  key  he 
could  assume. 

"Rent!  Rent!  House  rent,  you  know!  He  says  he 
can't  pay  his  house  rent  to-day!  ' 

"  Rent  day  ?  "  echoed  old  Glasford,  "  yes,  oh  yes,  that's 
past,  two  weeks  ago;  first  of  the  month." 

"^Yes,"  shrieked  Mr.  Bostwick,  while  the  store  full   of 


278  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

customers  and  his  fellow  clerks  stood  around  and  smiled, 
"I  know  it,  but  I  can't  pay  it  to-day;  haven't  got  a 
cent!" 

"  Oh!  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  with  a  gleam  of  intel- 
ligence passing  over  his  face,  "  I  don't  care  about  that ; 
that  isn't  what  I  come  for.  I  come  to  tell  you  if  your 
wife  wanted  that  front  room  down  stairs  papered,  to  go 
ahead  and  have  it  done,  and  I'd  allow  it." 

The  pretty  customer  wouldn't  have  a  word  to  say  to 
the  discomfited  Mr.  Bostwick  when  he  went  back,  and 
the  old  man  told  the  proprietor  as  he  went  out  of  the 
door  that  he  believed  that  young  man  was  just  about 
half  crazy,  and  the  clerks  were. all  so  pleasant  that  Bost- 
wick nearly  went  mad  every  time  he  was  reminded  of 
his  unfortunate  precipitancy,  and  that  is  the  way  he 
became  convinced  that  it  was  altogether  lighter  than 
vanity  to  rent  of  a  deaf  man. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  279 


SPECIAL  PROVIDENCES. 


THERE  was  wailing  and  woe  in  Burlingtown, 
For  every  other  day 
The  humid  showers  came  tumbling  down, 
As  they  had  come  to  stay. 

There  was  water  enough  in  the  land  to  spare; 

And  men  who  were  wont  to  pray, 
When  they  looked  in  the  cellar  each  morn  would  swear 

And  wrathfuUy  turn  away. 

All  out  on  South  Hill  they  pumped  and  pumped 

From  morn  till  dewy  eve, 
But  their  every  effort  the  storm  king  trumped, 

And  laughed  him  in  his  sleeve, 

Till  the  South  Hill  man  his  spirit  was  broke, 

And  he  sate  him  down  on  his  hill. 
Though  I  pump  till  my  back  cries  out,"  he  spoke, 
"  My  cellar  still  keeps  its  fill." 

'  Now  lithe  and  listen,  good  pump  of  mine. 

If  ever  I  touch  thee  more. 
May  never  again  the  bright  sun  shine 
As  it  shone  in  the  days  of  yore." 

Then  he  took  his  pump  and  he  hung  it  up 

Where  it  might  not  taunt  his  sight, 
And  he  drowned  his  grief  in  the  poisonous  cup 

Which  "moveth  itself  aright." 


28o  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

And  he  vowed  him  that  if  the  immortal  gods 
Would  hold  up  their  rain  for  a  while, 

He'd  build  him  a  cellar  and  take  the  odds  — 
On  top  of  his  domicile. 

"For  what  was  the  use,"  he  grimly  said, 
"Of  a  cellar  in  the  ground. 
Into  the  which,  if  you  went  for  bread, 
You  were  pretty  sure  to  be  drowned  ? " 

"  I  hate  the  cellar ;  oh  winds  of  the  south, 
Thy  rains,  as  hard  as  I  can ; 
I  wish  I  could  strike  them  both  with  a  drouth," 
Exclaimed  the  South  Hill  man. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  city  road 

A  coming  figure  to  scan, 
And  a  wild  fierce  light  in  his  optics  glowed 

When  they  fell  on  the  hated  gas  man. 

He  carried  his  book  and  his  railway  lamp. 

And  wore  a  sinister  frown ; 
And  he  sought  out  the  meter  in  cellars  damp. 

And  he  noted  the  figures  down. 

And  whether  a  man  burned  much  or  small. 

Or  how  often  the  gas  man  came, 
Or  whether  they  turned  on  the  gas  at  all. 

The  meter  just  counted  the  same. 

So  the  man  of  South  Hill,  when  he  saw  him  come. 

Supposing  that  he  had  come  th — 
Rough  ignorance,  said,  in  tones  full  glum, 
"You  cut  off  my  gas  last  month." 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  251 

The  gas  man  he  winked,  and  eke  as  he  wunk, 

He  shook  his  head  knowinglee, 
And,  as  though  he  something  suspiciously  thunk, 
"  We'll  look  at  the  meter,"  said  he. 

Then  he  opened  the  door  of  the  cellar  so  damp, 
And  he  stepped  where  the  pump  log  had  been, 

And  he  went  out  of  sight,  with  his  book  and  his  lamp, 
As  the  water  he  tumbled  in. 

Oh,  help!  "  loud  he  shrieked  as  his  noddle  came  up, 
"Hubbulubbulup!"  as  his  noddle  went  down. 
While  the  man  of  South  Hill  on  the  cellar  door  sill. 
Was  the  happiest  man  in  the  town. 

Splash!  Splash!  Blubbulup!  in  the  cellar  he  heard. 

And  he  hugged  himself  close  in  his  glee; 
And  whenever  the  gas  man  would  sputter  a  word, 
"Oh,  catch  hold  of  the  met-er!  "  cried  he. 

And  he  shut  down  the  doors,  and  he  locked  them  up 
tight. 

And  into  the  well  threw  the  key. 
And,  "  Providence  always  and  ever  is  right : 

Rains  and  cellars  are  useful,"  said  he. 


282  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


MR.  BARINGER'S    HOUSE-CLEANING. 


YOU  see,  Mr.  Baringer  has  only  been  keeping  house 
about  a  year,  and  they  took  the  carpets  up  this 
Spring  for  their  first  general  house-cleaning.  Mrs. 
Baringer's  mother  was  there,  because  she  said  Olivia  was 
a  mere  child  at  such  things,  and  she  didn't  believe  that 
Aristarchus  was  much  better,  and  it  was  better  to  have 
some  one  around  who  could  manage.  The  young  people, 
however,  felt  very  confident  that  they  had,  by  numerous 
consultations  and  many  well-laid  plans,  reduced  house- 
cleaning  to  a  perfect  science,  a  system  that  had  never  yet 
been  attained  by  any  other  housekeepers,  and  they  were 
all  impatient  to  get  at  work  and  clean  the  whole  house, 
from  garret  to  cellar,  and  have  all  the  pictures  back  on 
the  walls  and  carpets  nailed  down  again  before  dark. 
They  were  disgusted  at  the  way  other  people  cleaned 
house,  and  Olivia  thought  it  was  perfectly  wonderful 
how  Aristarchus  could  have  such  beautifully  lucid  and 
systematic  ideas  on  matters  of  which  most  men,  and  she 
would  say  most  women  as  well,  were  so  deplorably 
stupid  and  ignorant. 

The  stirring  notes  of  the  alarm  clock  dragged  Mr. 
Baringer  out  of  bed  at  3:15  A.  M.,  and  he  thought  he 
felt  intolerably  sleepy  for  five  o'clock,  but  he  didn't 
look  at  the  clock  until  he  was  dressed,  and  then  he  was 
too  mad  to  swear.  He  merely  woke  Mrs.  Baringer  up  to 
tell  her  that  he'd  bet  a  thousand  dollars  some  stupid  had 
changed  the  alarm  after  he  set  it  and  then  he  flopped 
down  on  a  lounge  to  sleep  till  daylight.  He  awoke  at 
half-past  seven  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which,  by  their  pre- 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  283 

arranged  system  and  calculations,  the  two  up-stairs  bed- 
room carpets  were  to  have  been  beaten  and  ready  to  put 
down  as  soon  as  the  floors  were  dry.  Then  the  kitchen 
fire  went  out  twice,  and  they  finally  sat  down  to  break- 
fast at  half-past  eight  o'clock,  Mrs.  Baringer's  mother 
beguiling  the  time  during  that  matin  meal  by  asking 
Olivia  if  she  minded  how  she  used  to  be  half  through 
her  house-cleaning  by  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  But 
Mr.  Baringer  bore  up  very  well  under  it,  and  immediately 
after  breakfast,  he  took  up  the  bed-room  carpets.  It 
was  slow  work,  jerking  the  tacks  out  one  at  a  time.  Some 
times  they  flew  up  into  his  face;  some  times  he  pulled 
the  head  off"  and  left  the  tack  in  the  floor;  and  when  they 
got  to  be  rather  thickly  scattered  around  the  room  he 
put  his  knee  down  on  one  occasionally  and  talked  in  a 
fragmentary  manner  about  certain  mill  privileges  in  con- 
nection with  house-keeping  which  Mrs.  Baringer  couldn't 
understand.  At  last  he  noticed  that  by  lifting  up  the 
edge  of  the  carpet,  a  gentle  pull  would  bring  up  half  a 
dozen  tacks  in  rapid  succession.  Happy  thought.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  grasped  the  bound  edge  of  the  carpet  in 
both  hands,  gave  a  mighty  lift  and  a  tremendous  pull  — 
k-r-r-r-r-r-t!  and  when  the  dust  settled  a  little,  Mrs. 
Baringer  and  her  mother  were  discovered  standing  in  the 
door,  looking  in  speechless  horror  at  Mr.  Baringer,  who 
stood  like  an  image  of  despair,  holding  a  carpet  with  a 
fringe  in  one  hand,  and  a  long  line  of  carpet  binding  in 
the  other. 

"  How  did yow  do  it?"  shrieked  Mrs.  Baringer. 

"  How  ^z/^r  did  you  do  it?"  echoed  Mrs.  Baringer's 
mother. 

Then  they  both  said  something  about  the  general  inca- 
pacity of  a  man,  and  Mr.  Baringer  endeavored  to  explain 
that  in  going  across  the   room   for  the  tack  hammer  lie 


284  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

had  caught  his  foot  in  the  edge  of  the  carpet,  with  the 
result  as  above.  And  at  the  conclusion  of  his  explana- 
tion, Mrs.  Baringer's  mother  gave  a  sniff  that  blew  dust 
out  of  the  carpet,  and  there  was  a  general  expression  of 
incredulity  on  the  faces  of  the  congregation. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  they  got  the  carpets  down  in 
the  yard,  and  on  the  line.  Then  Mr.  Baringer  approached 
and  smote  the  first  carpet  with  a  long  stick,  and  the  next 
instant  he  was  feeling  his  way  out  of  a  dense  cloud  of 
dust,  coughing,  sneezing  and  snorting,  and  wildly  gasp- 
ing for  air.  He  went  around  on  the  other  side,  and  as 
he  aimed  a  terrific  swipe  at  the  carpet,  he  struck  the 
clothes  prop,  and  his  nerveless  arm  stung  and  tingled  to 
his  neck,  while  his  wail  was  heard  down  to  the  city 
building.  Then  he  got  at  it  again,  and  found  that  his 
stick  was  too  light,  and  he  took  another  one.  A  few 
strokes  sufficed  to  convince  him  that  it  was  too  heavy, 
and  he  took  a  lath.  That  broke  in  two  at  the  first  blow, 
and  he  tried  an  apple  switch,  but  it  was  too  limber.  He 
finally  gave  up  the  idea  of  beating  any  more,  and  called 
to  Mrs.  Baringer  that  the  carpet  was  ready  to  be  shaken. 
Mrs.  Baringer,  with  her  head  in  an  apron,  came  out. 
They  gathered  the  carpet,  and  Mr.  Baringer  got  the  start 
of  her  and  shook  a  roll  clear  down  to  her  hands,  explod- 
ing in  a  loud  snap  and  a  volcano  of  dust  in  her  face. 
Then  she  dropped  the  carpet  and  sneezed  and  protested. 

"You  shook  too  quick,  deary,"  she  said. 

"But  you  said  you  were  ready,  sweety,"  replied  Mr. 
Baringer. 

"  But  you  shouldn't  be  so  rough,  lovey,"  she  protested. 

"  Well,  I  have  to  shake  hard  to  get  the  dust  out,  ducky," 
he  insisted. 

"Well,  you  needn't  be  so  cross  about  it,  deary,"  she 
sa!d. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  285 

"  Oh  well,"  he  said,  "  you  must  expect  hard  work  house- 
cleaning  days,  and  you  mustn't  lose  your  temper,  sweety." 

"  It  isn't  me  that  gets  cross  and  jerks  people  around, 
lovey,"  she  said,  "it's  you." 

"  I  never  jerked  you  around,"  he  retorted. 

"Why,  Aristarchus  Baringer!"  exclaimed  his  wife, 
making  very  large  eyes  at  him  and  speaking  in  tones  of 
the  greatest  amazement,  "  and  maybe  you  didn't  tear  the 
carpet  up  stairs,  either." 

"  I  wish  your  old  carpet  was  in  Halifax,"  he  said,  sav- 
agely. '*  Pick  up  that  end ;  let's  get  through  with  it. 
This  is  sweet  work  for  a  dry  goods  salesman,  anyhow ! 
Ready  .^" 

"  No,"  she  snapped,  "  I  ain't  ready.  Now  wait.  There. 
Hold  on  now ;  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.     Now  !  " 

And  the  next  instant  the  carpet  was  snapped  out  of 
her  hands,  and  it  did  seem  as  though  her  fingers  had 
gone  with  it,  while  Mr.  Baringer,  pretending  not  to  know 
that  it  had  fallen  from  her  fingers,  kept  on  shaking  vio- 
lently at  his  end,  filling  the  air  with  dust  and  grit.  At 
this  juncture  Mrs.  Baringer's  mother,  who  had  been  a 
quiet  spectator  of  the  carpet  shaking  scene,  approached 
and  called  him  to  desist.  Then  she  gathered  up  the 
vacant  end  of  the  carpet. 

"Aristarchus,"  she  said  kindly  but  firmly,  "  Olivia  is 
not  strong  enough  for  such  work." 

Then  she  added: 

"Have  you  got  a  good  hold,  Aristarchus?" 

And  Mr.  Baringer  said  he  had. 

"  Don't  let  go  then,  Aristarchus.     Ready." 

They  lifted  their  arms  high  in  the  air  and  Mr.  Baringer 
is  undecided  yet  which  part  of  him  started  first.  He 
walked  up  the  whole  length  of  that  carpet  on  his  hands 
and  then  he  fell  over  the   edge   and  banged  along  the 


286  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

walk  on  his  hands  and  knees  until  he  reached  the  front 
fence,  through  which  he  plunged  his  head,  and  would  have 
gone  on  through  but  for  his  shoulder  catching  against 
the.  gate  post.  The  carpets  did  not  go  down  that  day, 
and  a  big  Irishman  was  engaged  to  come  and  welt  the 
fuzz  off  them,  Mr.  Baringer  having  privately  and  with 
some  asperity  informed  his  wife  that  he  would  rather 
live,  sleep,  and  eat  in  dirt  up  to  his  eyes,  than  ever  again 
to  sweep,  beat,  or  shake  the  lightest  carpet  ever  trodden 
by  the  foot  of  man. 


AN   AUTUMNAL  REVERIE. 


"/^^H  dreamy  haze:  veiling  the  murmuring  river  that 
\^  stretches  away  like  a  silver  thread  under  a  mos- 
quito bar,  winding  in  wooded  nooks  and  creeping  through 
low  lying  islands  where  the  balmy  breeze  is  redolent  with 
the  odor  of  dead  leaves  and  dead  fish.  Oh  lovely  haze ; 
what  dreams  of  soulful  tenderness  its  name  recalls.  Oh, 
musty  hays  in  the  street  car;  oh,  hays  that  used  to  be 
full  of  bumble  bees ;  oh,  hazel  nuts  on  another  man's 
farm  with  a  big  dog  hid  in  the  patch.  Away;  these 
memories  are  too  painful. 

"Afar,  the  hillside^  glitter  in  gold  and  scarlet,  and  the 
sumach  bushes,  climbing  the  slope  with  their  nodding 
plumes,  look  like  a  new  express  wagon  coming  down 
Divisiqn  Street.  The  mellow  air  brings  into  the  city  the 
rustle  of  fallen  leaves  piled  deep  on  winding  cow -paths, 
threading  through  quiet  dells  and  winding  along  the  side 
of  purling  brooks.  It  brings  an  odor  of  something  old. 
Because  it  blows  over  the  cheese  factory. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  287 

"  How  faint  and  far  off  every  sound.  The  ghosts  of  the 
dead  Summer  flowers  sigh  in  every  breeze,  and  the  phan- 
tom of  the  cow  that  butted  the  freight  train  tinkles  her 
drowsy  bell  afar.  And  in  muffled  tenderness,  as  a  fall- 
ing star  might  drop  on  a  feather  bed,  we  hear  the  team- 
ster's cheery  call,  '  G'up!  ye  lop-eared  spavin,  r  I'll  lam 
the  hair  off  ye  with  a  dray  pin.'  And  the  muffled  creak 
of  the  wood  wagon  falls  plaintively  on  the  ear.  Eight 
dollars  a  cord,  and  only  cut  three  feet  long  at  that,  and 
piled  so  loosely  that  when  you  go  to  measure  it  you  can 
throw  a  felt  hat  through  the  pile  any  place  and  never 
touch  a  stick. 

"  List  to  the  plaintive  piping  of  the  quail  in  the  stubble. 
Ah,  quail  on  toast,  and  the  plaintive  piping  of  the  anx- 
ious waiter  for  seventy -five  cents.  Avaunt,  dull  dotard, 
take  thy  black  shadow  from  the  fairy  scene.  (This 
remark  was  addressed  to  the  waiter,  and  not  to  the  quail 
on  toast.) 

"Why,  in  these  dreamy  dark  autumnal  days  —  we  don't 
know  what  kind  of  a  day  a  dark  day  is,  but  we  wanted 
another  word  that  begins  with  d  and  could  only  think  of 
dark  and  another  one,  and  the  other  one  wouldn't  do  at 
all;  these  kind  of  days  then,  bring  with  them  a  sad  —  a 
sad  —  sad  something,  we  knew  what  it  was  when  we 
started  out,  but  stopping  to  explain  about  that  dark 
knocked  it  clear  out  of  our  head;  sad  —  it  isn't  saddle, 
nor  Sadducee,  nor  —  ah  yes,  now  we  have  it.  These 
dreamy  days,  that  come  like  a  tender  poem,  veiled  in  the 
delicate  drapery  that  hangs  over  the  distant  landscape, 
bring  with  them " 

At  this  critical  juncture  a  man  with  a  business-like 
look  in  his  eye  burst  into  the  sanctum,  slapped  his  hat 
down  on  the  paste  cup,  banged  a  sample  case  on  the  ink 
stand,  and  proceeded  to  remark  in  one  long  unpunctuated 


288  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

sentence,  "Good  morning  not  a  word  my  dear  fellow  I 
know  the  value  of  an  editor's  time  I  wish  you  just  to 
glance  at  this  prospectus  of  the  most  valuable  work  that 
has  ever  been  issued  from  the  American  press  it  is  the 
American  Centennial  Portrait  Gallery  and  you  will  ob- 
serve contains  exquisite  steel  engravings  full  page  of  all 
the  Presidents  with  the  autograph  of  each  one  appended 
and  complete  biographical  sketches.  Observe  that  en- 
graving of  Washington  through  this  glass  if  you  please 
bank  note  engraving  not  more  perfect  not  a  single  line 
crosses  or  becomes  merged  mto  another  one  what  ex- 
pression what  fidelity  to  nature  what  marvelous  portrait- 
ure what  minute  attention  to  detail  Notice  the  folds  in 
the  cloak  and  the  exquisitely  penciled  pattern  of  the 
ruffles  at  the  wrists.  And  so  with  Adams  and  Jeffer- 
son and  Madison  and  Monroe  and  Jackson  and  all  the 
rest  of  them  with  biographical  sketches  compiled  from 
the  best  authorities  with  facts  incidents  and  reminis- 
cences never  before  published  —  a  book  that  no  Ameri- 
can of  intelligence  should  be  without  a  book  without  a 
rival  in  its  field  of  patriotic  biographical  excellence.  In 
different  styles  of  binding — $3.00,  $3.50  and  $4.25. 
Now,  sir,  shall  I  have  your  name  right  here .''  " 

We  felt  all  around  the  room  before  we  could  catch  our 
breath,  and  when  we  regained  it  we  told  him  we  didn't 
believe  we  could  put  $4.25  worth  of  signature  anywhere 
that  morning,  and,  after  a  struggle  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  with  him,  we  got  him  close  enough  to  the  stair- 
way to  push  him  over  the  railing  and  heard  him  reach 
the  ground  floor  and  disappear  into  the  street  and 
around  the  corner  with  the  long  introductory  sentence  of 
his  prospectus  trailing  after  him  like  the  dribbling  shower 
of  a  runaway  street  sprinkler.  And  we  went  on  with  the 
dreamy,  sad,  sweet  reverie : 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  289 

"  The  tender  song  of  a  day  whose  wordless  beauties 
haunt  the   mystic  scene;  the  dreamy,   vague,  imperfect 

memories  that  bring " 

A  man  with  a  black  coat  and  a  high  hat  came  softly 
into  the  sanctum,  and  after  he  laid  a  flat  oil  cloth  case 
on  the  table,  he  lifted  his  hat  off  with  both  hands  and 
said,  speaking  in  soft  and  distressingly  deliberate  tones, 
and  articulating  with  awful  distinctness  and  precision : 
"  Ah  —  is  the  editor  in  ?  " 

We  imparted  the  desired  information,  and  the  delib- 
erate man  went  on, 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  call  on  a  matter  of  some 
importance  to  yourself,  as  well  as  to  the  great  masses  of 
the  American  people.  I  have  here  the  artist's  proof  of 
a  new  ker-  romo  entitled  '  Columbia.*  It  is  a  centennial 
allegory,  and  is  designed  by  Mr.  Alfred  Reynolds  Vin- 
cenzo  Fitzdaub,  one  of  the  most  eminent  artists  of 
America,  at  immense  outlay  of  time,  labor  and  money.  The 
tube  colors  used  on  the  original  painting  alone  cost  seven 
dollars  and  a  half,  while  the  can-  vas,  when  prepared 
and  stretched  for  the  pict-ewer,  was  worth  nearly  doub- 
bel  that  sum.  Here  you  see,  we  have  in  the  foreground 
Columbia,  her  sandaled  feet  resting  upon  the  broking 
canning  to  signify  that  war  is  no  more.  At  her  right 
hand  sits  the  American  eagil,  ger-rasping  the  olive  ber- 
ranch  of  peace  in  his  talents,  and  lifting  his  wings  as 
though  pluming  himself  for  fe-light.  Here  on  the  left 
we  have  the  artisin  in  working -dress,  the  statesman,  the 
teacher,  the  farmer,  the  sai-leure,  repperesenting  the 
various  callings,  and  here  rushes  a  train  of  cars,  while 
in  the  background  an  old-fashioned  stagecoach  is  disap- 
pearing, illustrative  of  the  perrogeress  of  the  past  hundred 
years.  The  original  painting  is  valued  at  $2,500,  but 
these  ker-romos  we  supply  for  $18  a  piece,  mounted  ready 


290  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

for  framing.  No  man  of  culture  or  artistic  taste  can 
afford  to  be  without  this  ker  -  romo.  The  eye  of  a  con- 
noisseur can  not  distinguish  it  ferrom  an  oil  painting. 
Observe  the  transparency  of  the  atmosphere ;  notice  the 
soft  natural  blending  of  the  high  light  and  middle  tint 
into  the  hazy  shadows  of  the  backger  -  round,  and  the 
bold  effects  of  the  heavy  cul  -  louds  that  overshadow  the 
past,  where  the  dim  edges  are  silvered  with  the  sunlight 
that  ber  -  reaks  ferrom  the  veil  of  the  few  -  chewer.  And 
here,  you  observe,  is  a  blank  tablet  at  the  right  of  the 
figewer  of  Columbia,  for  a  family  record.  Only  eighteen 
dollars.  They  will  be  ready  for  delivery  about  the  first 
of  Jewen,  and  if  I  m'ay  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your 
signature  in  this  book,  just  here,  it  will  cost  you  but  the 
trifling  sum  of  eighteen  dollars,  and  establish  more  fully 
the  reputation  you  have  already  acquired  as  a  man  of 
culture  and  refined  taste." 

We  got  rid  of  him  after  a  heated  session  of  about  half 
an  hour,  and  he  went  away,  mourning  over  the  depravity 
of  a  man  who  had  acquired  a  reputation  for  culture  and 
refined  taste  under  false  pretenses.     Then  we  resumed: 

"  Over  the  distant  hills,  hushed  in  the  misty  haze  that 
hangs  like  a  veil  of  peace  over  the  motionless  landscape, 
the  fleecy  clouds,  like  drifting  air  -  ships  on  the  broad 
expanse  of  melting  blue,  bring  the  sweet " 

A  man  with  a  mahogany  box  came  in  and  sat  down, 
and  talked  as  he  opened  it,  and  displayed  a  variety  of 
phials  and  boxes. 

"  The  profession  of  literature,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said, 
"  is  of  all  others  under  the  ban  of  the  fell  destroyer, 
dyspepsia,  and  it  is  especially  in  the  Spring  of  the  year 
that  literary  workers  suffer  most  keenly  from  its  dreadful 
effects.  An  ounce  of  prevention,  etc. —  you  know  the  old 
saying.     Now  I  can  see  by  your  heavy  eyes  that  you  are 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  29  I 

at  this  moment  suffering  from  headache.  This  "  Cen- 
tennial Cordial  and  American  Indian  Aboriginal  Invigor- 
ator  "  is  one  of  the  latest  and  most  valuable  discoveries 
in  the  world  of  medical  science,  and  has  positively  no 
equal  for  the  cure  of  jaundice  and  all  manner  of  liver 
disorders,  headache,  indigestion,  want  of  appetite,  dys- 
pepsia, bilious,  remittent  and  intermittent  fevers,  ague, 
giddiness  of  the  head,  rheumatic  affections,  poverty  or 
impurity  of  the  blood,  salt  rheum,  teething,  cholera  mor- 
bus, croup,  ophthalmia,  asthma,  hay  fever,  sea -sickness, 
diphtheria,  catarrh,  toothache,  sleeplessness,  gray  hair, 
pimples,  tan  and  freckles,  kleptomania,  emotional  insan- 
ity, growing  pains,  stone  bruise,  rattlesnake  bites,  jim- 
jams,  katzenjammer,  tight  boots,  bad  breath,  warts,  soft 
corns,  old  clothes,  tailor's  bills,  spring  fever  and  all  other 
ills  to  which  human  flesh  is  heir.  Compounded  purely 
of  herbs  and  the  finest  cologne  spirits,  and  selling  at  the 
ridiculously  low  price  of  $1.75  per  bottle.  Now  sir,  let 
me 

And  we  let  him  out  of  the  door  and  he  went  away, 
after  marking  us  for  the  tomb  in  a  few  short  weeks.  And 
then  we  tried  to  get  back  to  our  reverie. 

"The  sweet  days  come  and  go,  in  hallowed  rythmic 
cadences,  like  the  half  forgotten  chords  of  some  tender, 
sobbing  nocturne,  while  they  bring  the " 

"No,  sir,  this  is  not  the  tobacco  factory;  it's  the  next 
building  up  the  street. — Thank  heaven,  he's  gone." 

" bring  the   sad  yearning  of  a  restless  heart,  that 

reaches  out  amid  the  hectic  flushes  of  the  dying  year,  as 
it  would  clasp  the -" 

"  No  ma'am,  we  don't  want  to  buy  'The  Centennial  Gift 
Book  for  Young  Ladies;  '  no,  we  have  no  young  lady 
friends;  we  have  no  friends  of  any  kind;  we  have  no 
sisters,  or  brothers,  or  relations,  we  have  no  money,  v/e 


292  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

have  no  literary  taste,  we  have  no  desire  to  read  any- 
thing; we  can't  read,  and  we  don't  know  anybody  who 
can." 

" amid  the  hectic  flushes  of  the  dying  year,  as  it 

would  clasp " 

"  Have  no  use  for  a  fly  trap,  sir  ;  don't  keep  house;  ain't 
married;  don't  expect  to  be;  haven't  seen  a  fly  in  Iowa 
for  a  thousand  years." 

" the  hectic  flushes  of  the  dying  year,  as  though " 

"No,  no,  no!  this  is  not  the  barber-shop.  No,  we  don't 
know  where  the  barber-shop  is ;  there  is  none  in  this 
block;  there  are  no  barbers  in  Burlington;  the  nearest 
barber-shop  is  at  the  North  Pole.  No,  sir,  you  needn't 
apologize,  we  are  not  annoyed.     Good  afternoon,  sir." 

" amid  the  dying  flushes  of  the  hectic  year  whose 

pulses  throb  so  faintly  that " 

"No,  we  don't  want  any  *  Wonderful  Saponifier  and 
Dirt  Eradicator  for  the  Toilet  and  Laundry.'  No,  we 
have  no  family,  and  we  never  wash;  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  as  a  bath;  don't  want  to  be  clean;  never  shave, 
never  clean  our  nails,  and  have  on  the  same  shirt  we 
wore  the  day  we  were  born.  No,  sir.  Yes,  sir.  Good 
afternoon." 

" amid  the  flying  dushes  of  the '^-.ilsing  year  whose 

hectics  faint  so  throbly  that " 

"Yes,  sir,  this  is  The  Hawkeye  <  .nee.  No,  sir,  we  do 
not  buy  sand ;  no,  we  have  no  c  .d  clothes  to  exchange 
for  tin  ware ;  no,  we  don't  want  any  superior  stove  black- 
ing.    (9^^^  afternoon,  sir." 

" amid  the  dusting  fishes  of  the  throbling  hectics 

whose  painted  ear  is  throoming  in  the  gulch,  so  faintly 
fleam  the  glib  and " 

[Note  by  the  editor.  We  entered  the  ofiice  at  this 
point  and  found  the  writer  of  the  above  in  convulsions. 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  293 

From  the  ravings  of  his  delirium  we  gathered  that  he 
was  trying  to  write  something  nice,  and  was  tormented 
by  innumerable  interruptions.  Medical  assistants  were 
summoned,  and  we  were  told  to  keep  the  young  man's 
head  cool  and  he  would  get  well.  So  we  cut  it  off  and 
had  it  packed  in  ice.  It  weighed  two  and  a  half  ounces. 
The  young  man  is  doing  finely,  and  will  not  need  it  again 
this  year.] 


INFANTILE  SCINTILLATIONS. 


AH  yes,  we  do  love  children.  We  fairly  dote  on  them, 
and  enjoy  and  admire  their  sweet,  innocent  ways, 
from  the  dear  little  cloudy-faced,  bare-legged  cherubs 
that  swear  and  throw  stones  at  you  as  you  go  past  Happy 
Hollow,  to  the  sweet-faced  but  pampered  angel  that  sits 
in  the  golden  lap  of  luxury  and  breaks  the  mirrors  and 
your  head  with  pa's  cane.  It  was  purely  our  love 
for  the  little  innocents  that  induced  us  to  comply  with 
the  urgent  request  of  many  parents,  and  open  a  depart- 
ment in  The  Haivkeye  for  the  smart  sayings  of  precocious 
children. 

Mrs.  H — y  B — k,  of  North  Hill,  has  a  sweet  little  rose- 
bud, of  four  bright  Summers,  who  came  into  the  house 
and  lisped,  "  Ma,  Ith  tho  theepy." 

"  What  makes  you  sleepy?  "  asked  Rosebud's  mother. 

"  I  don't  know,"  murmured  the  child. 

Strange  yearning  after  the  incomprehensible  in  an 
infant  heart.  Could  any  of  the  children  of  an  older 
growth  have  made  a  better  answer } 

Then  there  is  little  Freddy  L ,  out  on  West  Hill. 


294  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Although  he  is  but  three  years  old,  he  put  his  father's 
watch  in  the  shaving  mug,  filled  the  mug  out  of  a  kero- 
sene lamp,  and  set  the  mixture  in  the  oven  to  dry,  where 
it  presently  dried — soon  after  the  hired  girl  made  up  the 
breakfast  fire — with  such  abruptness  that  three  of  the 
stoveplates  haven't  been  found  since.  After  the  excite- 
ment had  subsided,  his  mother  took  him  on  her  lap  and 
said: 

"  Freddy,  did  you  put  papa's  watch  and  the  mug  full 
of  oil  in  the  oven  ?  " 

And  the  dear  child,  opening  wide  his  innocent  eyes, 
and  smiling  in  tender  confidence  in  her  face,  said  placidly: 

"  No,  ma'am,  'deed  I  didn't." 

Sweet,  cautious  instinct  of  an  untried  heart.  Could 
any  of  us  get  out  of  it  any  better  than  that  ?  Who  can 
tell  what  vague,  uncertain  dreams  of  congressional 
honors  float  through  that  busy  little  mind  ? 

Johnnie  K is    a    charming  little  cherub  of  four 

bright  Springs.  One  day  he  poured  the  ink  into  the 
globe  where  the  gold-fish  were,  submerging  them  instan- 
taneously in  total  eclipse  ;  then  he  put  the  Bible  in  the 
fire,  threw  a  bronze  paper-weight  through  the  looking- 
glass,  broke  four  eggs  in  his  sister's  new  hat,  and  wound 
up  his  artless  sport  by  throwing  the  cat  down  the  cistern. 
His  mother,  discovering  all  this  mischief,  suspected  who 
was  the  author,  and  sought  her  son. 

"  Johnnie,"  she  said,  sadly,  "  Why  did  you  act  so 
naughty  ? " 

"  I  didn't,"  he  persisted.  "  Deed,  muzzy,  it  was  ze 
cat !  " 

Sweet  child !  Does  it  need  the  prescience  of  a  prophet 
to  see  that  he  will  some  day  make  an  excellent  witness 
in  a  great  scandal  case  ? 

Then  there  is   another  sweet  little  tid-toddler  out  on 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  295 

Seventh  Street.  The  other  day  one  of  his  parents,  the 
female  one,  put  him  to  sleep  and  laid  him  in  his  little 
crib,  and  then  she  ran  over  the  street  to  ask  Mrs.  Mul- 
doon  how  she  washed  flannels,  and  got  to  talking  about 
the  last  funeral,  and  the  mission  circle,  and  the  new 
preacher,  and  forgot  all  about  the  baby,  and  when  she 
went  home  there  that  dear  little  blessed  was,  flat  on  his 
back,  with  his  little  crib  lying  on  top  of  him,  and  he 
yelling  like  a  scalded  pig. 

Ah,  the  wild,  weird,  ventures  and  dreams  of  child  life. 
Try  it,  gray-haired  man  ;  see  if  you  can  fall  out  of  bed 
and  flop  your  bedstead,  slats,  springs,  mattress  and  all, 
on  top  of  you  as  you  land  on  the  floor.  You  can  not  do 
it,  but  the  tid-toddler  of  three  sweet  Summers — ah,  well, 
who  shall  say  how  their  untried  instinct  shames  the  lore 
and  knowledge  of  our  elder  years. 


296  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


SETTLING  UNDER   DIFFICULTIES. 


STRANGERS  visiting  the  beautiful  city  of  Burlington 
have  not  failed  to  notice  that  one  of  the  handsomest 
young  men  they  meet  is  very  bald,  and  they  fall  into  the 
usual  error  of  attributing  this  premature  baldness  to 
dissipation.  But  such  is  not  the  case.  This  young  man, 
one  of  the  most  exemplary  Bible -class  scholars  in  the 
city,  went  to  a  Baptist  sociable  out  on  West  Hill  one 
night  about  two  years  ago.  He  escorted  three  charming 
girls,  with  angelic  countenances  and  human  appetites, 
out  to  the  refreshment  table,  let  them  eat  all  they  wanted, 
and  then  found  he  had  left  his  pocket-book  at  home, 
and  a  deaf  man  that  he  had  never  seen  before  at  the 
cashier's  desk.  The  young  man,  with  his  face  aflame, 
bent  down  and  said  softly, 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  have  no  change  with " 

"  Hey  ?  "  shouted  the  cashier, 

"  I  regret  to  say,"  the  young  man  repeated  on  a  little 
louder  key,  "  that  I  have  unfortunately  come  away  with- 
out any  change  to " 

"  Change  two  ?  "  chirped  the  old  man,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  can 
change  five  if  you  want  it." 

"No,"  the  young  man  explained  in  a  terrible,  pene- 
trating whisper,  for  half  a  dozen  people  were  crowding 
up  behind  him,  impatient  to  pay  their  bills  and  get  away, 
"  I  don't  want  any  change,  because " 

"Oh,  don't  want  no  change.^"  the  deaf  man  cried, 
gleefully.  "  'Bleeged  to  ye,  'bleeged  to  ye.  *Taint  often 
we  get  such  generous  donations.     Pass  over  your  bill." 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  297 

"No,  no,"  the  young  man  explained,  ''I  have  no 
funds " 

"  Oh,  yes,  plenty  of  fun,"  the  deaf  m  n  replied,  grow- 
ing tired  of  the  conversation  and  noticing  the  long  line 
of  people  waiting  with  money  in  their  hands,  "but  I 
haven't  got  time  to  talk  about  it  now.  Settle  and  move 
on." 

"  But,"  the  young  man  gasped  out,  "  I  have  no 
money " 

"  Go  Monday  ?  "  queried  the  deaf  cashier.  "  I  don't 
care  when  you  go;  you  must  pay  and  let  these  other 
people  come  up." 

''  I  have  no  money  !  "  the  mortified  young  man  shouted, 
ready  to  sink  into  the  earth,  while  the  people  all  around 
him,  and  especially  the  three  girls  he  had  treated,  were 
giggling  and  chuckling  audibly. 

"  Owe  money .-'  "  the  cashier  said,  "  of  course  you  do ; 

$2.75-" 

"  I  can't  pay!  "  the  youth  screamed,  and  by  turning  his 
ix)cket  inside  out  and  yelling  his  poverty  to  the  heavens, 
he  finally  made  the  deaf  man  understand.  And  then  he 
had  to  shriek  his  full  name  three  times,  while  his  ears 
fairly  rang  with  the  half-  stifled  laughter  that  was  break- 
ing out  all  around  him ;  and  he  had  to  scream  out  where 
he  worked,  and  roar  when  he  would  pay,  and  he  couldn't 
get  the  deaf  man  to  understand  him  until  some  of  the 
church  members  came  up  to  see  what  the  uproar  was, 
and  recognizing  their  young  friend,  made  it  all  right  with 
the  cashier.  And  the  young  man  went  out  into  the  night 
and  clubbed  himself,  and  shred  his  lockg  away  until  he 
was  bald  as  an  egg.  ^ 


298  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 


HAWK-EYETEMS. 


SOMEBODY  told  Billinger  that  stamps  were  not  re- 
quired on  notes,  and  Billinger,  overjoyed,  asked  the 
crowd  to  drink,  and  said  he  pitied  old  Gunnybags  who  had 
been  trying  for  six  months  to  get  the  stamps  on  a  note  he 
holds  against  Billinger.  Billinger  says  he  knew  he  would 
get  the  law  on  the  old  gouge  if  he  held  on  long  enough. 

"  Pull  out.  Bill !  "  shrieked  an  engineer's  son  to  one 
of  his  playmates,  a  brakeman's  boy,  who  was  in  immi- 
nent danger  of  getting  smashed  by  his  mother,  who  was 
coming  after  him,  "  Git  on  the  main  line  and  give  her 
steam!  Here  comes  the  switch  engine!"  But  before 
the  juvenile  could  get  in  motion,  she  had  him  by  the  ear, 
and  he  was  laid  up  with  a  hot  box. 

A  North  Hill  man  refused  to  give  his  boy  thirty-five 
cents  to  go  to  the  minstrels,  because  the  entertainment 
was  demoralizing  and  vulgar  in  its  nature.  He  then 
bought  a  quarter's  worth  of  chewing  tobacco,  went  hom^ 
and  read  the  Weekly  Moral  Guide  and  Guardian^  and 
spit  all  over  the  front  of  the  stove,  and  made  the  parlor 
smell  so  much  like  a  stale  bar-room  that  the  baby  had 
three  whisky  fits  before  ten  o'clock. 

.it 

A  YOUNG  editoj^  out  in  Floyd  County,  gushing  over  his 

first,  asks,  "  Did  you  ever  watch  a  dear  little  baby  wak- 
ing from  its  morning  nap.-*  "  N-not  exactly;  but  we  have 
watched  a  dear  little  baby's  fond  pa  gliding  up  and  down 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  299 

the  fireless  room,  trying  to  induce  the  dear  little  baby  to 
take  a  morning  nap,  at  2:15  A.  M. — pressing  offers  but  no 
takers — which  was  about  as  much  fun  as  it  can  be  to  see 
the  baby  wake. 

A  MAN  out  on  Summer  Street  has  eight  daughters,  and 
when  they  cleaned  house  last  Spring,  the  woman  raked 
9,724  quids  of  chewing  gum  down  from  the  window  cas- 
ings, chair  backs,  door  panels  and  sofa  backs,  the  accu- 
mulation of  the  past  Winter.  And  this  does  not  include 
the  wads  which  the  man,  at  various  times  sat  down  on 
and  carried  away  on  the  tails  of  his  coat,  for  which  no 
accurate  returns  have  been  made. 

Old  Middlerib  came  home  one  night  and  ordered  a 
light  lunch  before  going  to  bed.  "Just  a  mouthful  of 
tea  and  a  bit  of  bread,"  he  explained.  "  Do  you  want 
just  plain  bread.'*"  asked  Mrs.  M.,  with  reference  to  the 
presence  or  absence  of  butter.  And  the  old  reprobate 
said  he  would  take  one  piece  plain,  and  the  other  with  a 
looped  overskirt,  shirred  down  the  gores  with  the  same, 
and  held  in  place  with  knife  pleatings  of  grape  jelly.  He 
got  the  heel  of  the  loaf. 

Everybody  thought  it  was  a  match,  and  so  did  he, 
and  so  did  she.  One  evening  at  a  croquet  party  she  hit 
her  pet  corn  a  whack  with  the  mallet  that  sounded  like 
a  torpedo,  and  he — he  laughed.  "  We  meet  as  strangers," 
she  wrote  on  her  cuff  and  showed  it  to  him.  "Think  of 
me  as  no  more,"  he  whispered  huskily,  and  when  the 
game  was  ended  he  rushed  down  to  the  Mississippi*  and 
drownedf. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  such  a  Christian  as  you  are,  John," 
said  his  wife,  as  she  stood   in  the  doorway,  dressed  for 

*  Saloon.  t  Sorrow. 


300  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

church.  "You  could  go  with  me  very  well,  if  you 
wanted  to."  "How  can  I?"  he  half  sobbed.  "There's 
the  wood  to  be  split,  and  the  coal  to  be  shoveled  over  to 
the  other  side  of  the  cellar,  the  baby  to  be  dressed,  and 
no  dishes  washed  for  dinner  yet."  "Ah,  I  didn't  think 
of  that,"  she  murmured  thoughtfully,  and,  giving  her 
new  cloak  a  fresh  hitch  aft,  sailed  out  alone. 

One  night  last  Summer  a  tired,  discouraged  man  out 
on  North  Hill  went  home  and  flung  himself  down  on  a 
lounge,  and  said  "  he  wished  he  were  dead,  dead,  dead." 
In  two  hours  he  was  writhing  in  a  premature  and  unsea- 
sonable attack  of  cholera  morbus,  and  howled,  and 
prayed,  and  sweat,  and  had  four  doctors  in  the  house, 
and  drank  a  quart  of  medicine,  and  had  mustard  plasters 
smeared  all  over  him,  and  wept,  and  said  he  wasn't  half 
tended  to,  and  he  believed  they  would  like  to  see  him 
die. 

"  Are  the  children  safe  ?  "  asks  the  Christian  Union. 
Quite  safe,  we  assure  you.  They  are  up  in  the  garret, 
playing  hotel  fire.  Jimmie  is  the  clerk,  and  is  trying  to 
slide  down  the  water  pipe  to  the  ground,  Willie  is  a 
guest,  hanging  to  the  window  sill  and  waiting  for  the 
flames  to  reach  his  hands  before  he  tries  to  drop  to  the 
shed  roof,  two  stories  below,  and  Tom  is  a  heroic  fire- 
man, and  has  tied  his  fishing  line  around  the  baby's 
body,  and  is  letting  it  down  to  the  ground.  Oh,  yes,  the 
children  are  all  right :  just  finish  your  call  and  don't  fret 
about  the  children. 

"Rents,"  said  Mr.  Middlerib,  with  a  sigh  of  not 
unmixed  satisfaction,  "  are  coming  down.  Yesterday 
morning  I  tore  the  back  of  my  coat  on  the  wood-shed 
door,  last  night  I  snagged  the  foundation  of  my  trousers 
on  a  nail  in  a  store  box,  and  this  morning  I  fell  down  on 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  3OI 

the  frozen  sidewalk  and  split  the  knee  of  the  same  trou- 
sers clear  across.  Rents  are  certainly  getting  lower." 
"  Yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Middlerib,  looking  across  toward 
the  busy  figure  at  the  sewing  machine,  "  and  seams- 
tresses are  getting  hire."  Mr.  Middlerib  looked  up  at 
his  quiet  spouse  in  vague  astonishment,  as  if  for  explana- 
tion, but  she  looked  sublimely  unconscious,  and  the  good 
maa  went  off  down  town  with  his  napkin  tucked  under 
his  chin,  wondering  all  the  way  to  the  office  if  she  meant 
it  or  if  it  was  only  his  interpretation. 

"A  MERCIFUL  man,"  tenderly  remarked  a  Ninth  Street 
man  one  bitter  cold  January  morning,  "  is  merciful  to  his 
beast,"  and  he  called  the  dog  in  out  of  the  snow,  gave 
him  his  breakfast  in  a  soup  plate,  and  laid  a  piece  of 
carpet  down  behind  the  kitchen  stove  for  him  to  snooze 
on.  Then  the  man  went  down  town,  and  the  neighbors 
v/atched  his  wife  shovel  snow-paths  to  the  woodshed, 
cistern,  stable,  and  front  gate,  and  then  do  an  hour's 
work  cleaning  off  the  sidewalk. 

Who  does  not  love  a  faithful,  honest  dog,  man's  faith- 
ful friend?  And  yet  who  is  there,  stretching  put  in  the 
shade  for  a  quiet  afternoon  nap,  who  has  had  man's 
faithful  friend  come  panting  up,  and,  in  an  excess  of  hon- 
est affection,  lay  a  great  broad,  hot  tongue  over  one's 
cheek,  from  chin  to  eyebrow,  that  does  not  get  up  and 
seize  man's  faithful  friend  by  the  tail  and  one  ear  and 
try  to  throw  him  across  a  prairie  fifteen  miles  wide  ? 

The  New  York  Herald  says  :  "  Bake  your  ripe  pear  in 
a  tart,  and  eat  it  with  brandy  and  cream."  We'll  do  it. 
Here,  Alvaretto,  bake  us  that  ripe  pear  in  a  tart  and 
dress  it  with  brandy  and  cream.  What  !  the  pear  eaten.'* 
Well  then,  the  tart  crust  and  the  trimmings.  The  tart 
gone !     Is   it   possible  "i     Then    the  brandy  and  cream. 


302  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Amazement!  no  cream?     Ah,  well    then,  we    must  not 
neglect  good  advice.     Bring  what  is  left  of  the  recipe. 

A  MONKEY  that  can  say  "papa"  and  "mamma"  and 
"Brazil"  is  going  to  the  Paris  exposition.  America  can 
send  a  donkey  that  can  say,  "Haw — yaas,  dweadful  baw; 
somebody  wing  faw  the  pwopwietah." 

They  have  just  found  the  skin  of  another  Dane  nailed 
to  the  oaken  door  of  an  old,  old  church  in  England. 
The  skin  isn't  entire,  only  scraps  of  it  remaining  under 
the  broad  flat  heads  of  the  nails.  It  was  a  pleasant  way 
the  Danes  had  of  destroying  the  beauty  of  their  crimi- 
nals—  they  skinned  them  and  then  nailed  the  skin  to  a 
church  door.  History  does  not  tell  us  how  the  unfor- 
tunate victim  employed  himself  during  the  operation,  but 
it  is  quite  likely  that,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  he  was 
into  some  deviltry. 

Old  Mr.  Troph  went  into  the  parlor  the  other  night  at 
the  witching  hour  of  11.45  ^^^  found  the  room  unlighted 
and  his  daughter  and  a  dear  friend,  one  of  the  dual  form 
of  garmenture  variety,  occupying  the  tete-a-tete  in  the 
corner.  "  Evangeline,"  the  old  man  said  sternly,  "this 
is  scandalous."  "Yes,  papa,"  she  answered  sweetly,  "it 
is  candleless  because  times  are  so  hard  and  lights  cost 
so  much  that  Ferdinand  and  I  said  we  would  try  and 
get  along  with  the  starlight."  And  the  old  gentleman 
turned  about  in  speechless  amazement  and  tried  to  walk 
out  of  the  room  through  a  panel  in  the  wall  paper. 

A  WOMAN  out  on  North  Hill,  being  counted  out  the 
other  morning,  after  a  debate  on  the  question,  "  Who 
shall  arise  and  build  the  fire.'*  "  got  up  and  split  her  hus- 
band's wooden  leg  into  kindling  wood,  and  broiled  his 
steak  with  it.     It  made  him  so  mad  that  he  got  hold  of 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  303 

her  false  teeth  and  bit  the  dog  with  them.  She  cried 
until  she  had  a  fit  of  hysterics,  and  then  flipped  out  his 
glass  eye  and  climbed  upon  the  bed  post  and  waxed  the 
glaring  eye  to  the  ceiling  with  a  quid  of  chewing  gum. 
Then  he  took  her  wisp  of  false  hair  and  tied  it  to  a  stick, 
and  began  whitewashing  the  kitchen  with  it.  Then  she 
started  off  to  obtain  a  divorce,  but  Judge  Newman  de- 
cided that  he  couldn't  grant  a  divorce  unless  there  were 
two  parties  to  the  suit,  and  there  was  hardly  enough  left 
of  them  to  make  one. 

"  You  don't  look  at  all  well,"  a  venerable  gobbler  out 
in  a  North  Hill  poultry  yard  remarked  to  a  melancholy- 
looking  young  rooster,  a  short  time  before  Thanksgiving 
day.  *'  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  1  have  reason  to  look 
solemn:  I  expect  to  die  necks  tweak."  The  gobbler 
smiled  grimly  and  pondered  over  the  uncertainty  of 
poultric  life  as  he  slowly  swallowed  a  two  -  inch  bolt 
head. 

Mrs.  Middlerib  paused  to  take  a  final  survey  of  the 
table  before  she  called  the  ladies  out  to  tea.  She  started 
as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  plate  of  lemon  tarts.  There 
were  five  where  there  had  been  nine.  She  sought  her 
only  son  and  put  him  in  the  witness  box.  He  objected 
to  her  putting  her  own  construction  upon  his  answers, 
and  was  subjected  to  the  usual  punishment  for  contuma- 
ciousness.  And  the  next  "composition  day"  at  school. 
Master  Middlerib  amazed  his  teacher  by  reading,  as  the 
title  of  his  essay,  "  The  Lost  Tarts,  and  why  They  can 
Never  be  Recovered." 

Sweet,  gushing,  artless  girl!  She  came  home  just 
before  the  Christmas  holidays.  She  went  away  from 
Burlington  one  Septem.ber ;  went  to  England  first ;  spent 
the  Winter  in  Italy  ;  sauntered   through  Germany  in  the 


304  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Spring,  came  back  to  America  and  trifled  away  the  Sum- 
mer at  Saratoga,  Long  Branch  and  the  White  Mountains  ; 
previous  to  this  trip  she  had  been  away  to  school  five 
years,  and  when  she  jumped  out  of  the  palace  car  into 
her  father's  arms,  she  said,  impulsively,  "  Oh,  Paw,  Paw, 
deah,  deah  Paw,  thay's  no  place  like  home  !  "  And  Paw's 
face  was  a  study  as  he  replied,  "  Well,  no ;  no ;  reckon 
not ;  must  be  quite  a  novelty  to  ye." 

The  worst  thing  we  have  seen  about  Oliver  Wendell 
Hoi  lies,  and  the  only  stain  on  an  otherwise  irreproach- 
able character,  is  that  he  is  the  inventor  of  that  parlor 
aggravation  known  as  the  hand  stereoscope ;  a  vexatious 
contrivance  for  which  the  pictures  are  always  too  large 
to  be  crammed  into  the  springs  or  too  small  to  stay  in 
them,  of  which  the  slide  is  always  shoved  off  the  end  of 
the  stick  in  the  vain  efforts  of  the  observer  to  find  a 
focus,  and  of  which  the  glasses  always  make  you  see  the 
picture  so  double  that  it  gives  you  the  headache  and 
finally  compels  you  to  peep  over  the  top  in  order  to  gain 
the  information  necessary  to  make  some  intelligent  re- 
mark about  the  jumble  you  have  been  staring  at. 

A  YOUNG  man  out  on  North  Hill  bought  a  parrot  some 
months  ago,  and  in  anticipation  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
going  to  be  married  and  go  to  the  Centennial,  he  secretly 
taught  the  parrot  to  say,  "  Welcome,  thrice  welcome 
home,"  every  time  anybody  opened  the  front  door,  think- 
ing what  a  delightful  surprise  it  would  be  to  his  young 
wife  to  be  thus  cheerfully  welcomed  home  on  their  return. 
But  while  they  were  on  their  tour,  the  nervous  woman 
who  was  left  in  charge  of  the  house  taught  the  parrot  a 
new  remark,  as  a  protection  against  burglars;  and  when 
the  young  people  came  home  on  the  night  train  and  let 
themselves  in  at  the  hall  door  with  a  latch  key,  they  were 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  305 

shocked  and  appalled  by  a  terrific  shout  of  "  Thieves ! 
thieves!  Police!  police!  Here  Bull!  here  Bull !  Scat- 
ter, ye  son  of  a  thief,  or  I'll  tear  your  heart  out !  "  Next 
day  the  parrot  died,  and  the  young  wife  now  says  she 
wouldn't  stay  alone  in  that  house,  not  for  a  divorce. 

A  Burlington  naturalist  last  Sunday,  while  investi- 
gating the  causes  and  effects  of  the  poison  of  a  wasp 
sting,  nobly  determined  to  make  of  himself  a  martyr  to 
science,  and  accordingly  handed  his- thumb  to  an  impa- 
tient insect  he  had  caged  in  a  bottle.  The  wasp  entered 
into  the  martyr  business  with  a  great  deal  of  spirit,  and 
backed  up  to  the  thumb  with  an  abruptness  which  took 
the  scientist  by  surprise.  He  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in 
the  study  of  remedies  that  he  forgot  to  make  any  notes 
of  the  other  points  in  connection  with  stings,  but  his  wife 
wrote  a  paragraph  in  his  note-book,  for  the  benefit  of 
science,  to  the  effect  that  the  primary  effect  of  a  wasp 
sting  is  abrupt,  blasphemous  and  terrific  profanity,  fol- 
lowed by  an  intense  desire,  fairly  amounting  to  a  mania, 
for  ammonia,  camphor  and  raw  brandy. 

One  day,  just  after  King  Solomon  had  written  a  col- 
umn of  solid  nonpareil  wise  and  moral  proverbs,  he  took 
his  eldest  son  by  the  elbow,  led  him  down  the  back  stairs 
of  the  palace,  through  the  back  yard,  past  the  woodshed, 
out  into  the  alley,  backed  him  up  behind  Ahithophel's 
wood-pile,  looked  warily  around  to  see  that  no  one  was 
listening,  and  whispered  into  the  young  man's  ear,  "  My 
son,  a  little  office  in  a  spread-eagle  life  insurance  com- 
pany is  better  than  a  cart-load  of  preferred  sto.k  in  the 
Ophir  mines."  And  then  the  monarch  threw  his  head 
on  one  side,  drew  in  his  chin,  shut  one  eye,  and  gazed  at 
his  offspring  in  silence.  •  Three  years  afterward,  when 
the    Great    Hebraic   Consolidated    Stormy    Jordan    Life 


3o6  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Assurance  Company,  of  which  that  intelligent  young 
prince  was  president,  went  into  bankruptcy,  the  young 
man  was  able  to  let  his  father,  who  was  a  little  short  at 
the  time,  have  275,000  shekels  for  ninety  days,  on  his 
simple  note  of  hand. 

They  were  very  pretty,  and  there  was  apparently  five 
or  six  years  difference  in  their  ages.  As  the  train  pulled 
up  at  Bussey,  the  younger  girl  blushed,  flattened  her 
nose  nervously  against  the  window,  and  drew  back  in 
joyous  smiles  as  a  young  man  came  dashing  into  the  car, 
shook  hands  tenderly  and  cordially,  insisted  on  carrying 
her  valise,  magazine,  little  paper  bundle,  and  would 
probably  have  carried  herself  had  she  permitted  him. 
The  passengers  smiled  as  she  left  the  car,  and  the  mur- 
mur went  rippling  through  the  coach,  "  They're  engaged." 
The  other  girl  sat  looking  nervously  out  of  the  window, 
and  once  or  twice  gathered  her  parcels  together  as  though 
she  would  leave  the  car,  yet  seemed  to  be  expecting  some 
one.  At  last  he  came.  He  bulged  in  at  the  door  like  a 
house  on  fire,  looked  along  the  seats  until  his  manly  gaze 
fell  on  her  upturned,  expectant  face,  roared,  "  Come  on  ! 
I've  been  waiting  for  you  on  the  platform  for  fifteen 
minutes  !  "  grabbed  her  basket,  and  strode  out  of  the 
car,  while  she  followed  with  a  little  valise,  a  band-box,  a 
paper  bag  full  of  lunch,  a  bird-cage,  a  glass  jar  of  jelly, 
and  an  extra  shawl.  And  a  crusty-looking  old  bachelor, 
in  the  farther  end  of  the  car,  croaked  out,  in  unison  with 
the  indignant  looks  of  the  passengers,  "  They're  married!*' 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bilderback  were  walking  slowly  home 
from  church  one  Sunday,  when  they  met  a  young  lady  of 
singular  beauty  and  sweetness  of  countenance,  who  was 
quite  lame.  And  Mrs.  Bilderback  turning  to  her  hus- 
band, said,  "  Did  you  ever  notice  what  a  sweet,  uncom- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  307 

plaining  look  of  resignation  rests  like  a  halo  on  the  faces 
of  young  girls  who  are  so  sadly  afflicted  as  the  lady  who 
just  passed  us?"  And  old  Bilderback  said  that  indeed 
he  had,  and  he  begged  his  wife  to  observe  him  very 
closely,  and  notice  what  a  sweet,  uncomplaining  expres- 
sion of  peaceful  and  holy  resignation  spread  itself  over 
his  face,  like  a  halo,  or  like  a  lump  of  butter  on  a  hot 
buckwheat  cake,  at  such  times  as  his  corns  tried  him 
unusually  bad.  And  she  only  remarked  casually  that 
when  they  got  home  she  would  hang  a  halo  around  his 
irreverent  head  that  would  make  what  little  hair  there 
was  left  on  it  think  the  millennium  was  a  million  years 
farther  away  than  ever. 

"  They  had  a  rather  odd  race  out  at  the  old  Acme  ball 
grounds  yesterday,"  Trotters  remarked  to  Ponsonby  when 
they  met  yesterday  morning.  "  Jones  rode  his  little 
calico  pony  around  the  block,  and  Brown  rolled  an 
empty  flour  barrel  the  same  distance,  even  start,  for  $io." 
"  Jones  beat  him,  of  course  ?  "  said  Ponsonby.  "  Brown 
was  a  fool  to  make  such  a  match."  "Don't  be  too 
sure,"  rejoined  Trotters,  "  when  they  reached  the  out- 
come, the  barrel  head;  blowed  if  it  didn't."  Pon- 
sonby stared,  then  slowly  smiled,  giggled,  and  finally 
guffawed.  "  Good  enough,"  he  said.  "I'll  get  that  off 
to  Mrs.  Ponsonby."  So  when  he  went  home  he  told  her 
all  about  it.  "Well,"  said  she,  "that's  just  about  as 
much  sense  as  I  supposed  that  precious  Brown  of  yours 
has.  I'm  glad  he  lost  his  money."  "Go  slow,"  yelled 
the  delighted  Ponsonby,  who  doesn't  often  have  a  chance 
to  sell  his  wife,  "  go  slow!  By  George,  Samantha,  Brown 
beat!"  And  Mrs.  Ponsonby  stared  and  said  he  must 
think  she  was  as  big  a  fool  as  Brown.  "  No,"  said  he, 
hastily  correcting  himself,  "  no,  that  wasn't  just  the  way 
of  it,  the  barrel  beat,  that's  it !     The  barrel  beat ;  Brown 


3o8  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

led,  did,  for  a  fact,  by  Jove."  And  Mrs.  Ponsonby 
scornfully  told  him  to  go  out  to  the  woodshed  and  see  if 
he  could  find  any  sticks  that  would  go  into  the  kitchen 
stove  —  she  couldn't.  And  Ponsonby  confidentially  told 
the  gentleman  who  saws  his  wood  an  inch  and  a  half  too 
long  for  every  stove  in  the  house  that  you  might  as  well 
tell  a  joke  to  a  sawbuck  as  to  his  wife,  for  she  hadn't  as 
much  conception  of  genuine  humor  as  a  cow. 

One  bright  May  morning,  when  the  building  season 
was  at  its  busiest,  a  careless  mason  dropped  a  half  brick 
from  the  second  story  of  a  building  out  on  Jefferson 
Street,  on  which  he  was  at  work.  Leaning  over  the  wall 
and  glancing  downward,  he  discovered  a  respectable  citi- 
zen with  his  silk  hat  scrunched  over  his  eyes  and  ears, 
rising  from  a  recumbent  posture.  The  mason,  in  tones 
of  some  apprehension,  asked  :  "  Did  that  brick  hit  any 
one  down  there }  "  The  citizen,  with  great  difficulty  ex- 
tricating himself  from  the  glove -fitting  extinguisher, 
replied,  with  considerable  wrath:  "Yes,  sir,  it  did;  it  hit 
me."  "That's  right,"  exclaimed  the  mason,  in  tones  of 
undisguised  admiration.  "  Noble  man !  I  would  rather 
have  wasted  a  thousand  bricks  than  had  you  tell  me  a 
lie  about  it." 

The  papers  in  this  country  are  quite  generally  publish- 
ing the  following  moi  of  Talleyrand's,  which  is  read  with 
the  greatest  enjoyment  by  all  classes  of  newspaper 
readers : 

It  is  said  that  the  notorious  M.  De  Manbreuil,  whose  name  of  Mar- 
quis d'Orvault  came  so  scandalously  before  the  public  a  few  years 
past,  proposed  to  have  Napoleon  assassinated,  and  that  the  Abbe  de 
Prade  was  in  favor  of  the  scheme,  and  discussed  its  execution  with 
Talleyrand,  and  that  the  following  words  passed ; 

"  Combien  vous  faut-il?  " 

'•  Dix  millions." 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  3C9 

"  Dix  millions?"  said  Talleyrand,  "  mais  ce  n'est  rein  pour  debar- 
rasser  la  France  d'un  el  fileau." 

This  is  pretty  good,  but  it  reminds  us  of  a  much  bet- 
ter one,  though  it  may  be  somewhat  old,  which  was 
related  to  us  by  Rev.  Jasper  C.  Romilly,  formerly  of  this 
city,  about  himself.  Mr.  Romilly,  whose  distinguishing 
personal  characteristic  was  an  immense  black  beard,  was 
for  some  years  a  missionary  at  Ugobogo,  in  Farther  India, 
and  on  one  occasion  he  dined  with  the  Bugaboo  of  that 
province.  When  the  wine  and  walnuts  were  brought  in 
the  Bugaboo  said: 

"  Marcharikai  hoi-to-po  ke-tee  nomkidom?" 

"  Jabbero  pompety  doodle  de  wonk  klonk  kobberee 
jam,"  replied  Mr.  Romilly. 

"  Yowk.?"  exclaimed  the  potentate,  *' chickero  boobery 
hong  dong  choi-ke-ree  yang  ste'  boi." 

This  was,  indeed,  too  good  to  keep. 

Woman  is  a  natural  traveler.  It  is  a  study  to  see  her 
start  off  on  a  trip  by  herself.  She  comes  down  to  the 
depot  in  an  express  wagon  three  hours  before  train  time. 
She  insists  on  sitting  on  her  trunk,  out  on  the  platform, 
to  keep  it  from  being  stolen.  She  picks  up  her  reticule, 
fan,  parasol,  lunch  basket,  small  pdt  with  a  house  plant 
in  it,  shawl,  paper  bag  of  candy,  bouquet  (she  never 
travels  without  one),  small  tumbler  and  extra  veil,  and 
chases  hysterically  after  every  switch  -  engine  that  goes 
by,  under  the  impression  that  it  is  her  train.  Her  voice 
trembles  as  she  presents  herself  at  the  restaurant  and 
tries  to  buy  a  ticket,  and  she  knocks  with  the  handle  of 
her  parasol  on  the  door  of  the  old  disused  tool  -house  in 
vain  hopes  that  the  baggage  man  will  come  out  and 
check  her  trunk.  She  asks  every  body  in  the  depot  and 
on  the  platform  when  her,  train  will  start,  and  where  it 
will  stand,  and,  looking  straight  at  the  great  clock,  asks : 


3IO  RISE    ANP    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

"  What  time  is  it  now  ? "  She  sees,  with  terror,  the 
baggage  man  shy  her  trunk  into  a  car  where  two  men  are 
smoking,  instead  of  locking  it  up  by  itself  in  a  large 
strong,  brown  car  with  "  Bad  order,  shops,"  chalked  on 
the  side,  which  she  has  long  ago  determined  to  be  the 
baggage  car  as  the  only  safe  one  in  sight.  Although  the 
first  at  the  depot,  she  is  the  last  to  get  her  ticket ;  and 
once  on  the  cars,  she  sits,  to  the  end  of  her  journey,  in 
an  agony  of  apprehension  that  she  has  got  on  the  wrong 
train  and  will  be  landed  at  some  strange  station,  put  in  a 
close  carriage,  drugged,  and  murdered,  and  to  every  last 
male  passenger  who  walks  down  the  aisle  she  stands  up 
and  presents  her  ticket,  which  she  invariably  carries  in 
her  hand.  She  finally  recognizes  her  waiting  friends  on 
the  platform,  leaves  the  car  in  a  burst  of  gratitude,  and 
the  train  is  ten  miles  away  before  she  remembers  that 
her  reticule,  fan,  parasol,  lunch  basket,  verbena,  shawl, 
candy,  tumbler,  veil  and  bouquet,  are  on  the  car  seat  where 
she  left  them,  or  at  the  depot  in  Peoria,  for  the  life  of  her 
she  can't  tell  which. 

How  often  a  little  careless  action,  a  thoughtless  word, 
a  restless  gesture,  brings  a  flood  of  thoughts  surging  into 
the  soul,  that  almost  tear  away  the  veil  of  mystery  that 
hangs  between  to-day  and  to-morrow,  and  give  us 
vague  and  hasty  glimpses  into  the  dark  uncertain  future. 
When  you  see  a  man  come  out  of  a  drug  store,  for  in- 
stance, with  a  "prescription  carefully  compounded,"  in 
his  hand,  and  dash  away  at  break  -  neck  speed,  and  then 
see  the  pharmacist  come  to  the  door  carrying  an  uncorked 
bottle,  and  smell  at  it  earnestly  with  one  nostril,  gaze 
anxiously  down  the  street  after  the  man,  smell  at  it  long 
and  intensely  with  the  other  nostril,  stare  wildly  up  the 
street  after  the  man,  and  then  sniff  at  it  once  or  twice 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  3II 

with  both  nostrils,  read  the  prescription  over,  and  retire 
into  the  medicine  shop  with  a  gloomy  brow  and  sad 
shakes  of  the  head,  how  many  things  you  begin  to  think 
about  then,  as  it  might  be. 

"  My  son,"  said  a  pious  father  out  on  South  Hill  to  his 
hopeful  son,  "  you  did  not  saw  any  wood  for  the  kitchen 
stove  yesterday,  as  I  told  you  to,  you  left  the  back  gate 
open  and  let  the  cow  get  out,  you  cut  off  eighteen  feet 
from  the  clothes  line  to  make  a  lasso,  you  stoned  Mr. 
Rob.nson's  pet  dog  and  lamed  it,  you  put  a  hard-shell 
turtle  in  the  hired  girl's  bed,  you  tied  a  strange  dog  to 
Mr.  Jacobson's  door  bell,  you  painted  red  and  green 
stripes  on  the  legs  of  old  Mrs.  Polaby's  white  pony,  and 
hung  your  sister's  bustle  out  in  the  front  window.  Now, 
what  am  I  —  what  can  I  do  to  you  for  such  conduct?" 
"  Are  all  the  counties  heard  from.?  "  asked  the  candidate. 
The  father  replied  sternly,  "No  trifling,  sir;  no,  I  have 
yet  several  reports  to  receive  from  others  of  the  neigh- 
bors." "Then,"  replied  the  boy,  "you  will  not  be  justi- 
fied in  proceeding  to  extreme  measures  until  the  official 
count  is  in."  Shortly  afterward  the  election  was  thrown 
into  the  house,  and  before  half  the  votes  were  canvassed, 
it  was  evident,  from  the  peculiar  intonation  of  the 
applause,  that  the  boy  was  badly  beaten. 

Passing  by  one  of  the  city  schools  one  day  we  lis- 
tened to  the  scholars  singing,  "  Oh  how  I  love  my  teacher 
dear."  There  was  one  boy,  with  a  voice  like  a  tornado, 
who  was  so  enthusiastic  that  he  emphasized  every  other 
word  and  roared,  "  Oh  how  I  love  my  ieach-^x  dear''  with 
a  vim  that  left  no  possible  doubt  of  his  affection.  Ten 
minutes  afterward  that  boy  had  been  stood  up  on  the 
floor  for  putting  shoemaker's  wax  on  his  teacher's  chair, 
got  three  demerit  marks  for  drawing  a  picture  of  her 


312  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

with  red  chalk  on  the  back  of  an  atlas,  been  well  shaken 
for  putting  a  bent  pin  in  another  boy's  chair,  scolded  for 
whistling  out  loud,  sentenced  to  stay  after  school  for 
drawing  ink  mustaches  on  his  face  and  blacking  the  end 
of  another  boy's  nose,  and  soundly  whipped  for  slapping 
three  hundred  and  thirty -nine  spit  balls  up  against  the 
ceiling,  and  throwing  one  big  one  into  a  girl's  ear.  You 
can't  believe  half  a  boy  says  when  he  sings. 

"Who  dem,  Cassius?  "  a  visiting  freedman  from  Keo- 
kuk asked  a  friend  the  other  day,  as  a  Masonic  lodge,  in 
funeral  procession,  passed  by. 

^Dey's  de  Free  and  Expected  Masons." 

"'Mazin'  what.^  " 

"Why,  mason  nuffin,  jest  on'y  Masons." 

"  Sho  !  How  long  dey  bin  free  ?  " 

"  Oh,  gory,  long  time.  Spects  ever  since  de  mancipa- 
tion proclamation,  anyhow.  Some  on  em  was  free  before 
den." 

"  Dat  so.''     Went  off  to  Canada,  mos*  likely.**" 

"Spect  so." 

"  Who's  done  expectin'  of  'em  ?  " 
.  "  Nobody ;   jest  expectin'  demselves.     Dey's  on'y  jest 
Free  and  Expected  Masons,  dat's  all." 

"Sho!  Well,  I'd  jest  like  to  know  what  dar  is  'mazin' 
about  'em  an'  I'd  done  be  satisfied." 

Oh,  the  artless  prattle  of  an  innocent  childhood!  How 
the  sweet  music  of  their  hearts  and  voices  calms  the  wild 
yearnings  of  the  sorrow -crowned  years  of  maturity.  At 
a  happy  home  in  Burlington  the  other  evening,  where  the 
family  was  gathered  around  the  tea-table  entertaining 
unexpected  guests,  the  fond  mother  said  to  the  youngest 
darling,  "Weedie,  darling;  be  careful;  you  mustn't  spill 
the  berries  on  the  table  -  cloth."     "  'Taint  a  table  -  cloth," 


AND  OTHER  HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  313 

promptly  responded  darling,  "it's  a  sheet."  And  late  at 
night,  when  the  company  had  gone  away,  and  that  sweet 
child  was  standing  with  its  head  nearly  where  its  feet 
ought  to  be,  catching  with  its  tear -blinded  eyes  occa- 
sional glimpses  of  a  fleeting  slipper  that  fluttered  in  the 
air  in  eccentric  gyrations,  one  could  see  how  early  in  the 
stormy  years  of  this  brief  life,  one  may  begin  to  suffer 
for  the  truth. 

When  you  see  a  young  man  sitting  in  a  parlor,  with 
the  ugliest  six  year  old  boy  that  ever  frightened  himself 
in  the  mirror  clambering  over  his  knees,  jerking  his 
white  tie  out  of  knot,  mussing  his  white  vest,  kicking  his 
shins,  feeling  in  all  his  pockets  for  nickles,  bombarding 
him  from  time  to  time  with  various  bits  of  light  furniture 
and  bijouterie^  calling  him  names  at  the  top  of  his  fiendish 
lungs  and  yelling  incessantly  for  him  to  come  out  in  the 
yard  and  play,  while  the  unresisting  victim  smiles  all  the 
time  like  the  cover  of  a  comic  almanac,  you  may  safely 
bet  —  although  there  isn't  a  sign  of  a  girl  apparent  in  a 
radius  of  10,000  miles  —  you  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar 
that  howling  boy  has  a  sister  who  is  primping  in  a  room 
not  twenty  feet  away,  and  that  the  young  man  doesn't 
come  there  just  for  the  fun  of  playing  with  her  brother. 

It  was  at  the  sociable.  Young  Mr,  Sophthed,  who 
reads  poetry  oh,  so  divinely,  and  is  oh,  so  nice,  stepped 
on  her  dress  as  she  was  hurrying  across  the  room. 
K-r-r-rt!  R'p!  R'p!  how  it  tore  and  jerked,  and  how 
Mr.  Sophthed  looked  as  though  he  would  die.  "  Oh, 
dear,  no,  Mr.  Sophthed,"  she  sweetly  said,  smiling  till 
she  looked  like  a  seraph  who  had  got  down  here  by  mis- 
take, "it's  of  no  consequence,  I  assure  you,  it  doesn't 
make  a  particle  of  difference,  at  all."  Just  twenty -five 
minutes  later,  her  husband,  helping  her  into  the  street 


314  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

car,  mussed  her  ruffle.  "  Goodness  gracious  me ! "  she 
snapped  out,  "go  way  and  let  me  alone;  you'll  tear  me 
to  pieces  if  you  keep  on."  And  she  flopped  down  on 
the  seat  so  hard  that  every  thing  rattled,  and  the  fright- 
ened driver,  ejaculating,  "  There  goes  that  brake  chain 
again,"  crawled  under  the  car  with  his  lantern  to  see 
how  badly  it  had  given  way. 

Art  has  its  votaries  even  amid  the  untaught  children 
of  the  wilderness.  A  few  days  ago  a  savage  Indian 
painted  his  own  face,  went  into  an  emigrant  wagon  that 
was  sketched,  by  himself,  out  on  the  prairie  after  dark, 
and  drew  a  woman  from  under  the  canvas  and  sculptor, 

Mrs.  J.  C.  McWhelter,  who  lives  outon  Ninth  Street, 
worked  three  weeks  building  a  rookery  out  of  cracked 
geodes,  and  threw  the  whole  pile  away  in  fifteen  minutes 
yesterday  afternoon,  bombarding  a  neighbor  who  said  her 
baby's  hair  was  red  enough  to  heat  its  catnip  tea  on. 

An  enraptured  Burlington  lover,  hearing  his  sweet- 
heart sigh  dejectedly  the  other  evening,  rapturously  ad- 
ministered a  quartette  of  kisses  and  exclaimed,  "  You're 
mine,  now,  in  spite  of  fate !  "  "  And  why  1  "  she  asked. 
"  Because,"  he  said,  "four  of  a  kind  beats  ace  high.** 
But  she  believes  to  this  day  that  he  played  a  cold  deck 
on  her. 

"  All  flesh  is  grass,"  as  the  reaping  machine  said 
when  it  chawed  up  the  harvest  hand. 

A  MAN  may  carry  a  load  of  guilt  concealed  in  his  tor- 
tured soul  for  years,  and  hide  it  with  a  veneering  of  hol- 
low, heartless,  deceitful  smiles,  but  it  doesn't  take  five 
minutes  for  the  thoughtless  world  to  observe  and  under- 
stand the  one  -  shouldered  gait  of  a  man  whose  larboard 
suspender  button  has  parted. 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  315 

The  other  day  a  public  reader,  while  entertaining  an 
audience  with  a  masterly  rendition  of  an  extract  from 
"  Macbeth,"  dropped  his  false  teeth  out,  but  he  went 
rii^ht  on  with  the  soliloquy,  '"  Ig  gish  a  daggag  ash  I  see 
befog  me?  Cug,  leg  me  glug  ghee!"  And  then  the 
audience  got  up  and  howled  and  threw  all  the  chairs  out 
of  the  window  and  sent  out  for  somebody  to  come  in  and 
hold  them  while  they  hollered. 

A  Sl>uth  Hill  man  complained  to  old  Dibbs,  the 
other  day,  that  his  house  was  infested  with  chimney 
swallows,  but  old  Dibbs  says  he  is  ready  to  bet  fifty  dol- 
lars that  the  man  swallows  twice  as  mucii  as  the  chimney 
does. 

A  YOUNG  native  poet,  who  is  writing  a  "  song  of  olden 
Rome,"  asks  us  to  give  him  a  rhyme  for  Romulus.  A 
dozen,  if  he  wants  them  : 

"  If  o'er  that  wall  you  leap,  oh  dunce, 

The  lightning  stroke  wo  ild  harm  you  less" 
But  Remus  laughed  and  leaped  ;  at  once 
His  head  was  punched  by  Romulus. 

A  FELLOW  never  appreciates  the  tender  beauty  of  a 
sister's  love  half  so  much  as  when  he  makes  her  get  out 
of  the  big  rocking  -  chair,  and  let  him  have  the  morning 
paper,  while  she  goes  off  and  leans  up  against  the  end 
of  the  bureau  and  feeds  her  starving  intellect  on  the 
household  receipts  at  the  back  of  Jayne's  family  almanac. 
A  brother's  love  is  like  pure  gold.  It's  dreadfully  hard 
to  find,  and  when  you  find  it,  it's  very  apt  to  be  pyrites. 

"  Did  you  never,"  asked  a  transcendental  young  lady 
just  three  weeks  from  Vassar,  of  the  West  Hill  young 
man,  "  Did  you  never  feel  a  vague,  unrestful  yearning 
after  the  beyond?  a  wild,  strange,  impulsive  longing  and 
reaching  out  after  the  unattainable  ? "  And  the  West 
22 


3l6  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

Hill  man  said  he  often  had,  last  Summer,  at  such  times 
as  he  was  trying  to  scratch  a  square  inch  full  of  hives, 
right  between  his  shoulder  blades,  and  just  out  of  reach 
of  any  thing. 

A  BENEVOLENT  clergyman  recently  helped  a  profane 
Burlington  inebriate  out  of  the  gutter,  and  gently  rebuk- 
ing him  reminded  him  that  the  "  wages  of  sin  is  death." 
"  I  know  't,"  replied  the  erring  one,  "  but  I've  worked  so 
much  over  time,  and  the  shop  is  so  far  in  arrears  to  me 
that  I'll  never  get  half  that's  comin'  to  me  any  how." 
And  he  went  off  to  work  right  along  on  the  same  old  job. 

The  tramp  has  his  revenge  on  society  after  all.  If 
they  refuse  his  request  for  a  square  meal  at  any  house, 
he  lurks  around  t\\e  vicinity  with  threatening  glances 
until  nightfall,  when  he  skulks  rapidly  away 'with  the 
cheering,  comforting  knowledge  that  while  he  is  snoring 
all  the  hours  of  that  long  Summer  night  away  under  a 
haystack,  every  being  in  that  house  will  sit  bolt  upright 
in  bed  all  night,  frightened  by  the  wind,  terrified  by  the 
rustling  of  the  leaves,  scared  into  fits  when  even  the  dog 
barks,  and  fairly  bounced  out  of  bed  every  time  the  clock 
strikes,  while  a  nightmare  of  burglarious  tramps  fills 
every  drowsy  moment  with  awakening  terrors.  No  won- 
der that  tramps  always  look  happy  and  contented. 

Old  Mr.  Balbriggan  is  very  much  pleased  with  a  gen- 
tleman whom  he  has  engaged  to  saw  wood.  "  When  he 
piles  the  wood,"  said  old  Balbriggan  to  his  friend,"  if  one 
stick  projects  beyond  the  others,  he  pounds  it  in  with  the 
ax."  "  He's  a  slouch,"  replied  Bifelstone,  "you  should 
see  my  wood  sawyer.  When  he  gets  the  wood  all  piled 
he  takes  off  the  rough  projecting  ends  with  a  hand  saw." 
"  He  couldn't  pile  wood  for  me,"  broke  in  old  Mr.  Pilking- 
horn,    "  my  sawyer  piles  the  wood   carefully,  then    goes 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  317 

over  the  ends  with  a  jack  plane,  sand-papers  them  down 
and  puts  on  a  coat  of  varnish  before  he  ever  thinks  of 
asking  for  his  pay."  And  then  they  all  went  in  after  a 
big  drink  before  Throckmorton  could  tell  how  his  wood 
sawyer  silver-plated  all  the  ends  of  the  wood  and  nailed 
a  handle  on  every  stick  to  pick  it  up  by.  Because,  you 
see,  Throckmorton  is  such  a  liar,  and  they  all  know  it. 

A  West  Hill  minister  picked  up  a  frozen  wasp  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  with  a  view  to  advancing  the  interests 
of  science,  he  carried  it  in  the  house  and  held  it  by  the 
tail  while  he  warmed  its  ears  over  a  lamp  chimney.  His 
object  was  to  see  if  wasps  froze  to  death,  or  merely  lay 
dormant  during  the  Winter.  He  is  of  the  opinion  that 
they  merely  lie  dormant,  and  the  dormantest  kind  at 
that,  and  when  they  revive,  he  says,  the  tail  thaws  out 
first,  for  while  this  one's  head,  right  over  the  lamp,  was 
so  stiff  and  cold  it  could  not  wink,  its  probe  worked  with 
such  inconceivable  rapidity  that  the  minister  couldn't 
gasp  fast  enough  to  keep  up  with  it.  He  threw  the 
vicious  thing  down  the  lamp  chimney,  and  said  he  didn't 
want  to  have  any  more  truck  with  a  dormant  wasp,  at 
which  his  wife  burst  into  tears  and  asked  how  he,  a  min- 
ister of  the  gospel,  could  use  such  language,  right  before 
the  children,  too. 

When  a  man  accustoms  himself  to  owning  a  dog,  and 
turning  around  at  every  corner  to  look  up  and  down 
street  for  him,  and  whistle  him  out  of  stairways,  or  yell 
at  him  to  stop  his  fooling  with  other  dogs  and  come  along, 
or  make  dashes  into  a  crowd  of  earnest  and  excited  dogs 
who  are  holding  a  caucus  and  have  each  other  by  the 
ear,  and  especially  his  dog — that  man  is  a  slave  to  a 
habit  that  he  will  never  break.  It  will  cling  to  him,  we 
believe,  after  he  gets  to  heaven,  for  most  men  who  love 


3l8  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

dogs  are  pretty  sure  of  going  to  heaven.  We  once  saw 
an  old  settler  standing  at  the  Barrett  House  corner,  peer- 
ing up  and  down  street,  and  stooping  down  to  look  under 
the  hacks,  and  "wondering  where  he  could  be,"  and 
whistling  and  growing  impatient,  and  scolding  and  call- 
ing, "  Hyuh,  Turk!  yuh!  yuh!  yuh!"  until  every  dog  in 
Burlington  was  sitting  around  the  Barrett  House  corner, 
patiently  pounding  the  snow  with  his  tail  and  mentally 
resolving  to  lay  for  Turk  if  he  ever  came.  Presently  a 
young  man  came  along  and,  greeting  the  anxious  dog 
hunter  as  his  "Father,"  asked  what  he  was  waiting  there 
for  ?  The  old  settler  said  he  had  lost  Turk  somewhere 
right  around  there,  and  couldn't  see  hide  nor  hair  of  him, 
and  couldn't  imagine  where  he  had  gone  to.  "Turk!" 
roared  his  dutiful  son,  "Turk!  Suffering  Moses!  And 
him  dead  eight  years  ago!"  And  he  hustled  the  old 
man  away  before  he  could  begin  to  whistle  up  any  more 
ghosts. 

The  balmy  breath  of  Spring  is  so  entwined  with  the 
fragrance  of  new  onions  that  a  man  has  to  grip  his  nose 
with  a  spring  clothes  pin  every  time  he  stoops  to  pluck 
a  violet. 

A  GIFTED  contributor  sends  us  a  poem  beginning 
"Open  the  doors  to  the  children."  You'd  better,  if  you 
don't  want  all  the  paint  kicked  off  the  panels. 

There  is  nothing  that  tends  to  destroy  popular  sym- 
pathy for  the  working  classes  so  much  as  the  habit  a 
bricklayer  has  of  dropping  bits  of  mortar  from  the  top  of 
a  five-story  wall  into  the  eye  of  the  wondering  man  who 
stands  under  the  lofty  scaffolding  and  looks  up. 

A  porcelain-lined  kettle  in  a  berry-stricken  neigh- 
borhood is  the  nearest  approach  to  perpetual  motion  that 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  319 

has   yet    been    realized.     Its  incessant    motion    is    only 
rivaled  by  the  slow,  steady  growth  of  the  sugar  bill. 

One  of  the  discoveries  made  by  the  latest  arctic 
explorers  is  that  the  length  of  the  polar  night  is  one 
hundred  and  forty-two  days.  What  a  heavenly  place 
that  would  be  in  which  to  tell  a  man  with  a  bill  to  call 
around  day  after  to-morrow  and  get  his  money. 

A  FASHION  journal  says  "  white  velvet  dresses  give  a 
roundness  to  the  figure."  They  give  an  awful  lankness 
to  the  figures  on  a  hundred  dollar  bill. 

Mulium  in  parvo :  Iowa  tramp,  to  lady  of  the  house  : 
'*  Please,  missus,  won't  you  give  me  something  to  drink.'* 
I'm  so  hungry  I  don't  know  where  I'll  stay  to-night." 

An  eminent  New  York  jurist,  who  has  retired  from  the 
bench,  always  shakes  hands  with  his  friends  by  turning 
around  and  passing  his  right  hand  behind  his  back.  It 
is  supposed  the  peculiar  habit  was  contracted  during  his 
active  professional  life. 

Cards  of  invitation  in  Utah,  issued  by  a  young  lady 
and  her  mother,  always  present  the  compliments  of 
"Miss  Smith  and  the  Mrs.  Smiths." 

We  are  told  by  a  Russian  traveler  that  the  summit  of 
Mt.  Hood  is  a  single  sharp  peak  of  lava.  White  or 
Balaclava  } 

A  scientific  gentleman  sends  us  an  elaborate  treatise 
on  "the  healthiness  of  lemons."  They  may  be  dread- 
fully healthy,  but  they  are  terribly  soured  in  their  dispo- 
sitions. 

A  RISING  young  tenor  o^  Burlington  has  a  neck  eight 
inches  long,  and  it  gives  liim  an  immense  power  over  his 
voice;  enables  him  to  throat  a  long  ways.     (Tra,  la,  la  !> 


320  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

The  whale  is  the  sulkiest  of  all  fishes.  He  is  the 
worst  pouter  in  the  business. 

About  the  oldest  little  game  of  draw  we  know  of  was 
played  when  Joshua  razed  Jericho,  and  the  fellows  of  the 
city  wished  they  hadn't  stayed  in. 

Your  landlord  is  probably  the  finest  example  of  filial 
affection  and  duty  you  ever  met.  He  is  unremitting  in 
his  attention  to  and  care  of  his  pay  rents. 

"  Was  it  her  brother  .-*  "  is  the  title  of  a  new  novel.  We 
think  not.  It  is  our  impression  that  the  large  gentlemen 
in  a  plaid  coat,  who  was  kicking  him  down  stairs  and 
calling  for  the  dog,  was  her  brother. 

George  Washington's  strongest  hold  upon  the  Amer- 
ican people  is  the  fact  that  he  never  wore  a  box  coat  and 
a  plug  hat. 

History  says,  "  Caesar  had  his  Brutus."  But  some- 
how or  other  we  always  had  the  impression  that  Brutus 
rather  had  Caesar. 

By  some  wicked  and  unpardonable  error,  the  case  of 
the  photographs  of  editors  on  exhibition  at  the  Centennial 
got  misplaced,  and  was  exhibited  in  a  frame  labeled 
!*  Native  woods  of  the  United  States." 

Nature's  effort  to  maintain  equilibrium  is  never 
better  set  forth  than  in  the  instinctive  struggles  of  a  man 
with  one  suspender  to  carry  both  shoulders  even. 

On  account  of  the  Turco-Russian  war  and  the  failure 
of  the  American  cabbage  crop  last  year,  nearly  all  the 
genuine  imported  Turkish  tobacco  used  in  this  country 
this  Summer  will  have  to  be  made  out  of  plaintain  weed. 

The  day  after  Christmas,  father  and  mother  no  longer 
come  sneaking  in  at  the  back  door  with  mysterious  look- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  32  I 

ing  bundles.  No,  indeedy.  Mother  is  gliding  around 
with  the  expression  of  a  Christian  martyr  with  the  tooth- 
ache, because  she  didn't  get  what  she  expected,  and 
father  is  sitting  around,  holding  his  breath  till  the  bills 
come  in. 

You  can  utilize  your  cake  of  maple  sugar,  if  you  find 
there  is  too  much  sand  in  it  to  make  molasses  of,  by  put- 
ting it  in  a  neat  frame  of  card-board,  or  some  kind  of 
fancy  work,  in  bright  colors,  and  hanging  it  up  against 
the  wall  to  light  matches  on.     It  never  wears  out. 

Flies  are  made  for  some  good  and  useful  purpose  after 
all.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  busy  flies,  men  with  their  never 
dying  souls  to  save  and  lots  of  work  to  do,  would  lie 
down  after  dinner  and  sleep  till  six  o'clock  every  day. 

A  Nashville  bank  robber  burrowed  under  a  street  for 
five  days,  and  at  length  came  up  in  the  coal  vault  of  a 
beer  saloon,  three  doors  away  from  the  bank,  and  bit 
himself  in  eleven  places  with  the  most  uncompromising 
dog  he  ever  tried  to  conciliate.  The  next  time  he 
attempts  any  mining  operations  he  will  take  a  practical 
engineer  along. 

It  was  intensely  hot  in  Salt  Lake  City  last  Summer, 
and  one  night  about  1,820  linear  feet  of  prickly  heat 
broke  out  on  the  infant  backs  in  Brigham  Young's  nurs- 
ery. The  eruption  hasn't  been  equaled  since  Mt.  Vesu- 
vius cooled  off. 

It  is  in  the  merry  month  of  Spring  that  a  tree  peddler 
comes  around  and  talks  you  to  death,  and  sells  you  a 
plum  tree  that  bears  fruit  so  bitter  that  it  poisons  every 
curculio  that  tastes  it,  and  some  cherry  trees  that  send 
up  one  hundred  and  fifty  sprouts  to  the  square  inch  and 
will    lift   the   house  off  its   foundations   in   two   years' 


322  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

growth,  and  some  apple  trees  that  neither  sprout,  blos- 
som, nor  bear  fruit,  and  some  blackberry  bushes  that 
spread  all  over  a  ten-acre  lot  the  first  season,  and  some 
gooseberry  bushes  that  have  thorns  on  a  foot  long,  and 
never  have  anything  else,  and  some  peach  trees  that 
break  out  in  bloom  from  the  ground  to  the  tip  of  the  top- 
most branch  five  days  after  they  are  put  in  the  ground 
and  die  as  dead  as  a  flint  the  sixth  day,  and  a  climbing 
rose  tree  that  turns  out  to  be  wild  ivy  and  poisons  every 
soul  about  the  house  before  the  Summer  is  over. 

When  the  late  Governor  of  the  Persian  province  of 
Fars  retired  from  office,  the  Government  officials  put  him 
in  the  stocks  and  pounded  the  soles  of  his  feet  until  he 
disgorged  $300,000  of  crooked  salary.  If  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States  would  adopt  that  system,  five 
hundred  million  pairs  of  crutches  would  carry  the  popu- 
lation of  the  republic  to  and  from  its  daily  labor.  And 
if  we  knew  where  we  could  get  hold  of  a  man  who  would 
give  down  like  the  late  worthy  Governor  of  Fars,  we 
would  gather  him  by  the  ankles,  stand  him  on  his  head, 
and  welt  the  soles  of  his  feet  until  his  backbone  went 
through  the  top  of  his  head  and  stuck  nine  inches  in  the 
ground. 

There  is  a  junior  in  the  Burlington  high  school  who, 
when  his  father  cuffs  his  scholastic  ears  for  leaving  the 
wheelbarrow  standing  athwart  the  front  gate,  can  go  out 
to  the  woodshed  and  swear  in  French,  grumble  in  Ger- 
man, threaten  to  run  away  and  be  a  pirate  in  good  classic 
Greek,  and  blubber  in  honest  United  States. 

One  day  last  Winter  a  young  lady  broke  through  the 
ice  of  a  deep  skating  pond  near  Toronto,  and  a  young 
man  rescued  her  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life.  As  the  half 
drowned  girl  was  recovering  consciousness,  her  agonized 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  323 

father  arrived  on  the  spot.  Taking  one  of  her  cold,  white 
hands  in  one  of  his  own,  he  reached  out  the  other  for  the 
hand  of  her  rescuer,  but  the  young  man,  realizing  his 
danger,  with  one  frightened  glance  broke  for  the  woods, 
and  was  soon  lost  to  view.  He  has  not  been  heard  of 
since,  and  it  is  supposed  that  he  is  traveling  in  the 
United  States  under  the  false  and  hollow  name  of  Smith. 

We  haven't  given  the  subject  enough  study  to  speak 
very  confidently  upon  it,  but  we  rather  believe,  when 
the  end  of  the  world  comes,  and  the  last  trump  calls  all 
mankind  together,  that  the  man  who  died  with  rheuma- 
tism will  lie  still  a  long  time,  and  will  feel  the  small  of 
his  back,  and  rub  his  knees  slowly  and  thoughtfully  a 
great  many  times,  before  he  finally  groans  and  makes  up 
his  mind  to  get  up.  And,  as  like  as  not,  by  the  time  he 
gets  on  his  feet  everybody  else  will  be  gone. 

Man — What  power  of  nature  has  he  not  subdued  ? 
What  climate  has  he  not  trodden  under  foot .''  What 
arctic  rigor  and  tropical  heat,  what  polar  snows  and 
equatorial  sunstrokes  has  he  not  laughed  to  scorn  ?  He 
has  tamed  the  elements,  he  has  made  the  ocean  his  high- 
way, he  has  made  fire  and  water,  earth  and  air,  his  ser- 
vants, and  bent  beneath  his  all-subduing  yoke  even  the 
wild  lightnings  to  be  his  messenger.  And  yet  he  can  not, 
arching  himself  upon  the  back  of  his  head  and  on  his  heels, 
scoop  with  his  eager  palm,  cracker  crumbs  from  the  irri- 
tating sheet  with  a  sufficient  degree  of  success  to  insure 
himself  a  good  night's  sleep.  He  can  not,  he  can  not — 
oh,  might  of  the  giant,  it  kaint  be  did ! 

A  WOMAN  will  take  the  smallest  drawer  in  a  bureau 
for  her  own  private  use,  and  will  pack  away  in  it  bright 
bits  of  boxes,  of  all  shades  and  sizes,  dainty  fragments 
of  ribbon,  and  scraps  of  lace,  foamy  ruffles,  velvet  things 


324  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

for  the  neck,  bundles  of  old  love-letters,  pieces  of  jew- 
elry, handkerchiefs,  fans,  things  that  no  man  knows  the 
name  of,  all  sorts  of  fresh-looking,  bright  little  traps  that 
you  couldn't  catalogue  in  a  column,  and  any  hour  of  the 
day  or  night  she  can  go  to  that  drawer  and  pick  up  any 
article  she  wants  without  disturbing  any  thing  else. 
Whereas  a  man,  having  the  biggest,  deepest  and  widest 
drawer  assigned  to  him,  will  chuck  into  it  three  socks,  a 
collar-box,  an  old  necktie,  two  handkerchiefs,  a  pipe  and 
a  pair  of  suspenders,  and  to  save  his  soul  he  can't  shut 
that  drawer  without  leaving  more  ends  of  things  sticking 
out  than  there  are  things  in  it,  and  it  always  looks  as 
though  it  bad  been  packed  with  a  hydraulic  press. 

One  day  a  young  man  of  respectable  appearance 
attracted  considerable  attention  on  Third  Street,  while 
crossing  over  to  the  Barrett  House.  He  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  and  yelled,  and  danced  up  and  down 
on  one  leg,  while  he  held  the  other  out  and  kicked,  like 
the  can-can  lady  on  the  bulletin  boards.  The  bystanders 
thought  he  was  crazy,  and  threw  stones  and  mud  at  him, 
and  knocked  him  down  and  choked  him,  and  held  him 
still,  while  he  never  ceased  to  shriek,  "  Snake  up  my 
leg!  Snake  up  my  leg ! "  Then  they  reached  up  and 
pulled  a  small  roll  of  bills  out  of  his  trousers  leg,  and 
let  him  up,  when  he  raised  his  hands  to  heaven  and 
swore  he  would  never  carry  money  in  a  hip  pocket  again, 
hole  or  no  hole. 

It  was  on  a  bright  April  morning  that  Mr.  Alanson 
Bodley,  who  lives  out  on  Summer  Street,  stepped  out  of 
the  house  in  a  tender  frame  of  mind,  singing  softly  to 
himself,  "  Oh  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove,  I'd  fly.  Away 

from "     Just  then  the  hired  girl  threw  the  bed-room 

carpet  out  of  the  window,  and  as  its  dusty  folds  envel- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK- EYETEMS,  325 

oped  Mr.  Bodley,  and  threw  his  struggling  form  down 
stairs,  he  was  heard  to  exclaim  in  muffled  tones,  "  If  I 
get  out  of  this,  if  I  don't  cut  the  raw  heart  out  of  the 
bloody-minded  assassin  that  slung  that  carpet,  strike  me 
dead!"  Thus,  too  often,  the  tenderer  influences  that 
bring  into  life  and  being  our  higher  and  noble  emotions 
and  transcendental  longings,  are  warped  and  distorted 
by  the  stern  realities  of  life,  like  a  wet  boot  behind  the 
kitchen  stove* 

They  had  the  awfulest  time  up  at  Jerome  Cavendish's 
house,  on  West  Hill,  one  evening,  and  Mrs.  Cavendish 
went  into  hysterics,  and  Miss  Cavendish  fainted,  and 
young  George  Cavendish  grabbed  his  hat  and  ran  out 
of  the  house,  and  old  Cavendish  raved  and  ramped 
around  like  a  crazy  man,  all  just  because  they  had 
waffles  for  tea,  and  Miss  Cavendish  found  a — "  oh  !  ow  I 
ow ! !  00-00-00!!!  ee-e-e-e!!!"  hard-baked  beetle  in  a 
waffle.  Oh,  it  was  terrible !  It  was  awful !  It  was  too 
awful!     Too  awful!     Two  waffle! 

One  day  last  Spring  a  sweet-faced  woman,  with  a 
smile  like  an  angel  and  a  voice  softer  and  sweeter  than 
the  sound  of  flutes  upon  the  water,  was  walking  up  Fifth 
Street.  She  was  walking  very  slowly,  enjoying  the  cool, 
soft  air,  and  the  delicious  shade  of  those  maple  trees 
just  below  Division  Street.  Her  languid  motions  were 
the  perfection  of  grace,  and  she  was  the  admiration  of 
every  pair  of  eyes  on  the  street,  when  suddenly  she 
threw  her  parasol  over  the  steeple  of  the  church, 
screamed  till  she  rattled  the  windows  in  the  parsonage, 
jumped  up  as  high  as  the  fence  three  times,  and  whooped 
and  shrieked,  and  wailed,  and  howled,  and  kicked  until 
everybody  thought  she  had  suddenly  become  insane. 
But  when  they  ran  up  and  caught  hold  of  her  and  poured 


326  RIST^    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE, 

water  on  her  head  and  $15  bonnet,  and  shook  her  until 
she  quit  screaming  and  began  to  talk,  they  found  that 
one  of  those  green  worms,  about  an  inch  long,  had 
dropped  from  the  maple  leaves  and  slid  down  her  back. 
And  they  didn't  wonder  that  she  yelled  and  made  a  fuss 
about  it. 

Some  years  ago  a  public  -  spirited  citizen  of  Burlington 
died,  and  left,  by  his  will,  $175,000  to  found  an  orphan 
asylum;  and  his  sons  and  daughters,  and  nieces  and 
nephews,  and  cousins,  and  brothers  and  sisters,  and  all 
his  wife's  relations,  contested  the  will,  and  fought  and 
wrangled  and  called  each  other  names,  and  told  hard 
stories  about  each  other,  and  proved  up  wonderful 
claims,  and  hired  lawyers  by  the  acre,  and  kept  the  fight 
up  manfully  until  quite  lately,  when  it  transpired  that  the 
man  only  had  $35  in  the  whole  wide  world  when  he  died, 
and  owed  that  to  his  grocer,  and  was  in  debt  about  $300 
beside,  and  that  the  coffin  he  was  buried  in  hadn't  been 
paid  for  yet.  And  it  was  sad  to  see  those  claimants 
standing  around  the  streets  with  grip -sacks  in  their 
hands  trying  to  get  out  of  town,  with  a  lawyer  and  a 
capias  lurking  behind  every  corner. 

A  PAIR  of  deaf  mutes  were  married  in  Monroe,  Geor- 
gia, three  years  ago,  and  now  it  is  more  fun  than  a  circus 
to  see  them  quarrel  and  make  faces  at  each  other  with 
iheir  fingers. 

It  is  a  remarkable  coincidence,  and  shows  the  benefi- 
cent watchcare  which  a  kind  Providence  exercises  over 
mankind,  that  the  advertisements  of  new  and  infallible 
cholera  mixtures  should  appear  in  the  city  papers  just 
about  the  time  watermelons  come  in. 

When  a  man,  coming  down  to  breakfast  half  awake, 
with  his  uncertain  feet  shod  in  a  pair  of  slip -shod  slip- 


AND    OTHER    HAWK  -  EYETEMS.  327 

pers,  Steps  on  a  spool  on  the  first  step,  he  is  generally- 
wide-awake  enough  by  the  time  he  tries  to  break  the 
last  step  to  have  a  very  vivid  and  not  entirely  incorrect 
idea  of  the  power  and  indestructible  force  generated  by 
the  Keely  motor.  But  that  isn't  what  he  talks  about 
when  he  goes  into  the  breakfast  room  and  the  folks  ask 
him  what  made  such  a  noise  in  the  hall  ? 

At  a  charity  ball  in  New  York  one  lady  wore  diamonds 
valued  at  $85,000,  and  another  belle  wore  a  $23,000 
dress,  and  so  all  the  way  down  to  the  poor  people,  whose 
clothes  didn't  cost  more  than  $1,800.  The  net  proceeds 
of  the  ball,  which  were  to  be  devoted  to  charitable  pur- 
poses, amounted  to  $11.25,  which  the  door-keeper  and 
ticket-seller  spent  for  hot  drinks. 

Two  young  ladies  of  Tama  County,  have  finished  a 
quilt  containing  10,696  pieces,  and  the  local  paper 
proudly  asks  if  anybody  in  Iowa  can  beat  that?  We 
haven't  anything  in  Burlington  like  that  in  the  quilt  line, 
but  Caspar  Cruger,  up  on  Eighth  Street,  fell  down  the 
plank  walk  steps  leading  down  to  Valley  Street,  one 
morning,  and  ran  10,697  pine  slivers  into  his  back  and 
legs,  and  a  Tama  man  than  he  was  when  he  got  up 
you  never  saw. 

Another  "  wild  boy "  has  made  his  startling  and 
erratic  appearance  in  Texas,  but  since  the  fact  has  be- 
come generally  known  that  the  first  time  a  stranger  takes 
a  drink  of  Texas  whisky  he  goes  out  on  the  prairie  and 
looks  for  a  clean  place  to  have  a  fit,  public  confidence  in 
Texas  "wild  boys"  has  been  sadly  shaken. 

The  Massachusetts  papers  are  discussing  the  question, 
"  May  Cousins  Marry  ?. "  We  should  hope  so.  We 
don't  see  why  a  cousin  hasn't  as  good  a  right  to  marry 


328  RISE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    MUSTACHE. 

as  a  brother  or  an  uncle  or  a  son  or  sister.     They  all  get 
used  to  cousin'  after  they  marry,  anyhow. 

Abdel  Moulk  Kahn,  the  eldest  son  of  the  Emir  of 
Bokhara,  has  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  in  accordance 
with  the  Mohammedan  custom.  In  this  country  it  is 
customary  for  the  Moulk  Kahns  to  Mecca  pilgrimage  to 
the  nearest  river  just  before  milking  time. 

A  Burlington  man,  who  is  a  monomaniac  on  the 
subject  of  roller  skates,  and  who  spent  ninety  -  two  days  in 
the  rink  during  the  past  season,  and  got  more  falls  than, 
he  has  hairs  on  his  head,  and  got  himself  stuck  so  full 
of  slivers  that  he  wears  through  his  clothes  like  a  nut- 
meg grater,  calls  himself  a  "  hard  rinker,''  and  conse- 
quently he  is  haunted  by  traveling  agents  of  temperance 
societies. 

John  Thompson,  of  Muscatine,  ran  away  from  home 
with  a  circus  three  years  ago,  and  now  he  is  posted  on 
the  bill  boards  of  his  native  town  as  "  Giovanni  Tiom- 
peonatti,  the  Inimitable  and  Unapproachable  Grand 
Double  Flying  Trapeze  and  Philo  Protean  Prestidita- 
teurean  Athleto- Acrobat."  Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of 
mortal  be  proud  ? 

Steel  ropes  are  being  introduced  into  the  British  navy 
in  place  of  the  clumsy  hemp  hawsers.  They  had  better 
enlist  a  few  good  government  contractors  from  America. 
They'll  steal  ropes,  swabs,  tar  buckets,  marlin  -  spikes, 
capstan  bars,  or  anything  else  that  isn't  nailed  down  and 
under  guard. 

The  French  know  how  to  cook  an  egg  three  hundred 
and  sixty -five  different  ways,  and  yet,  if  it  is  a  little 
bilious  to  begin  with,  the  strongest  combination  of  all 
these  ways  won't  make  a  very  eggy  egg  of  it. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL   BE  ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE  TO   RETURN 
THIS    BOOK   ON   THE   DATE   DUE.    THE  PENALTY 
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DAY    AND    TO     $1.00    ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

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